GIFT  OF 

Class   of   1887 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 


A   LYRIC 


BY 

George  Cathcart  Bronson 

!> 

(CARL  BRONSON) 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE  H.  L.  WARD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Los  ANOHI.ES,  CALIFORNIA 

1907 

tJt 


COPYRIGHT  1907 
BY  G.  C.  BRONSON 


PKKSS   OF 

Ifcuiur  Company 

LOS  ANGKLRS 


I  dedicate  this  thought  as  loving  tribute  to  the 
Soul  of  her  in  realms  of  Light,  my  wife, 
Maude  Wellings-Bronson. 


Upon  the  altar  of  our  love 
We  consecrate  thy  Memory, 

Biding  our  time  as  doth  behoove 
Three  souls  that  trust  Eternity. 

MARIAN. 
RUTH. 
G.  C.  B. 


671529 


PROLOGUE 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 

PROLOGUE 

Come  view  with  me  from  this  prospective  height 
The  scene  that  spreads  so  tranquilly  below. 

From  o'er  that  wind-swept,  skyward  slanting  rock, 

Gaze  'tween  the  framing  arms  of  yonder  spruce ; 

Behold,  upon  the  valley's  bosom,  far, 

That  village  nestling  in  the  shade  of  trees? 

'Twas  there  she  lived. 

And  hark !    Hear  you  not  waters  chattering? 

It  is  the  brook  that  wakes  the  lowland's  hush" 

To  hear  the  merry  laughter  of  the  schoolward  ihrong. 

There  to  the  leftward,  follow  where  I  point, 

Mark  that  high  promontory  that  uprears 

Below  the  village  and  beyond  the  river's  bend? 

Upon  its  apex  trace  that  graying  pile? 

It  is  the  mission  Carmel ;  and  below 

Upon  the  slope  is  consecrated  ground 

Wherein  are  gathered  to  their  last  abode 

The  faithful  host. 

Adown  this  bi-walled  vale  awaft,  I  hear 

The  plunge  of  billows  on  a  craggy  shore 

Whence  seaward  gleams  by  night  a  watchful  beam. 

The  actors  in  these  unpretentious  scenes 
I  will  select  from  ordinary  walks : 

9 


Materials  both  old  and  commonplace. 

Then,  by  the  trend  of  circumstance  evolve 

My  plastic  creatures  into  thoughtfulness: 

From  that  rapt  moment  on  they  grow  alone ; 

For,  once  we  pause  to  think,  there's  nought  can  st 

The  progress  of  the  npaspiriug  mind. 

My  pupil  is  a  lad  from  o'er  the  seas. 
Whose  parents,  thirsting  for  the  tempting  gold. 
Gathered  their  all  and  pressed  across  the  wild. 
They  met  the  fate  was  common  of  those  days. 
And  perished  in  the  lonely  wilderness. 
This  frail  survivor,  yet  a  growing  lad. 
'Was  '.fathered  by  the  settlers  in  their  way: 
His  mind,  unformed  as  crude,  unminted  ore, 
Absorbed  the  sterling  principles  of  men 
Whose  honor  was  their  only  claim. 

As  unsophisticated   lie.  as   tli 
Whose  all-absorbing  duties  fill  their  days 
Too  full  for  deeper  thought,  yet  mischief  free; 
Such  labors  as  do  callous  o'er  the  hands. 
Embroaden  shoulders  and  o'ermoist  the  brow  : 
He  loves  the  yellow  harvest  of  tlic  field. 
While  bird  songs  charm  him  from  the  budding  bush. 
Awaking  in  his  soul  a  sad  refrain. 
More  subtle  than  all  reasoning  or  rote. 
All  week  days  have  a  sameness  in  the  town. 
Where  rising  and  retiring  are  routine : 
Rut   Sunday  comes  with   sweet  refreshing  rest. 

10 


Calmed  by  the  hollow  clang  of  village  bells. 

A  sense  of  new-ironed  raiment  and  the  buzz 

Of  busy  conversation  permeates, 

Contrasting  with  the  long-frocked  preacher's  mood 

That  bears  an  air  expressive  of  his  creed. 

Fresh  blossoms  o'er  the  altar  blow  their  breath, 

As  passing  up  the  bare  and  narrow  aisle, 

We're  ushered  into  some  especial  pew : 

Conspicuous,  a  table  in  full  view, 

Surmounted  by  a  contribution  plate, 

Dispensed  the  ushers'  services,  instead, 

Suggesting  plainly  to  the  pious  host, 

That  gospel  thrives  the  better  on  good  coin : 

Thus,  as  each  brother  dropt  his  chinking  tithe, 

The  preacher  groaned  proportioned  to  its  weight. 

The  voluntary  choir,  like  fluttering  birds, 

Can  scarce  repress  their  babble  while  the  hymn 

Is  outdrawled  by  the  pastor,  solemnly. 

The  organiste  be-bowed  and  primpt,  and  grave, 

Because  of  duties  more  than  commonplace, 

Toys  with  the  stops  majestically  and  pumps 

In  eagerness  to  launch  forth  into  song. 

It  were  a  needless  theft  of  time  to  name 
The  varied  members  and  their  points  of  view, 
The  same  types  ever  seek  the  same  old  perch, 
And  plume  their  feathers  to  their  vain  delight : 
Old  age  doth  nap  and  less  attentive  youth 
Doth  writhe  and  fix  its  gaze  upon  the  clock. 
Within  this  motly  throng,  with  reverence 

11 


More  due  to  pride  than  piety,  our  lad 

Sits  thru  the  dreary  sermon's  length.     Recalls 

Ere  orphaned,  the  parental  calm  that  beamed 

Above  him  every  Sunday  morn : 

The  modest  pastor  hath  fulfilled  their  place; 

A  man  of  more  than  common  worth,  who  loved 

To  ply  his  flock  with  wholesome  thought. 

Alas,  O  valued  framer  of  my  youth, 

I  fear  your  worthy  kind  is  obsolete ! 

Now  steps  a  modest  Miss  upon  the  scene 
Just  as  we've  known  her  in  our  callow  days. 
I'll  leave  her  image  for  your  mind  to  paint, 
As,  fair  and  innocent,  with  high  ideals, 
She  swept  into  your  youthful  dreams. 

Each  carries  in  his  heart  a  photograph, 
The  print  of  which  illumes  the  retrospect : 
Perchance  she  sitteth  by  your  side  in  life — 
Or  only  in  an  haunting  memory. 
I  would  awaken,  but  respectfully 
Desist    ere  your  illusions  are  dispelled: 
Persuant  of  this  happy  thought  I'll  let 
My  readers  conjure  their  affinities. 


12 


PART  I. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 
PART  I 

Pass  on,  O  wint'ry  blight, 
Pass  on  with  all  your  grief! 

O !  let  the  spring  awake, 
Restore  the  fallen  leaf! 

O !  let  the  spring  awake, 

Let  balmy   showers  call 
The  violet  from  sleep; 

Release  your  chilling  thrall ! 

Return  ye  singing  birds, 

Arouse  the  slumb'ring  grove ! 

Attune  the  heart  of  life 
To  melody  and  love. 

The  glades  bestir  with  up-awaking  spring, 
Whose  gorgeous,  songful  pageant  moves  along 
The  drear  of  winter's  bleak  retiring  path. 

Cheery  !  Cheery !  Sweet !  Sweet ! 

Cooing  tender  words, 
Canzonetting,  tweet !  tweet ! 

Happy  mating  birds. 

Tee-lee-ler !  Tee-lee-ler ! 

On  the  blooming  spray; 
In  ecstatic  twitter, 

Spring  has  come,  they  say. 

15 


The  mild  wind  taps  the  fringing  buds, 
And  blossoms  garland  o'er  the  bough ; 

The  deep-eyed  daisy  lifts  its  face, 
The  rich  glebe  mellows  to  the  plow. 

The  husbandman  recounts  the  yield 
That  promises  from  tree  and  field, 
As  from  his  brow  he  wipes  away 
The  moisture  of  a  toilsome  day. 

Fields  of  butter-cups  and  clover. 

With  a  poppy  here  and  there ; 
And  a  soft  breeze  bending  over 

To  inspire  the  fragrance  rare : 

O'er  a  path  the  kine  have  traveled. 

Winding  slopeward  to  the  glade; 
Where  a  limpid  stream,  bright  graveled. 

Gaily  ripples  thru  the  shade. 

The   sun   hath   passed  the   mountains'   dark'ning  rim, 
\-  twilight  falls  upon  the  valley  dim. 
Aloft,  the  waking  stars  lending  their  glow, 
Beam  brighter  with  the  night's  encircling  flow. 
Heart-full,  he  pauses  on  the  steep  incline. 
Where  at  his  feet  the  river  curves  its  line. 
With  arms  extended  t'ward  the  silent  hills 
He  calls  aloud,  while  thought  ecstatic  thrills : 
mewhere  amid  this  broad  expanse  of  sky 
The  spirit  of  my  truer  self  doth  fly  : 

16 


Somewhere,  e'en  tho  I  see  or  hear  it  not, 
It  hovers  round  the  ever  sacred  grot : 
O !  would  I  might  receive  it  here  and  now, 
Soft  borne  upon  the  wind  to  me,  the  vow : 
Turn,  gentle  Spirit,  from  thy  journey's  trend, 
Thy  loving  presence  to  mv  loneines  lend!" 


(Entranced,  his  heart  invites  the  wistful  mood.) 

O  to  be  understood ! 

Attuned  to  some  true  mind ; 
O  to  be  understood! 

My  better  self  divined. 

Alas,  O  heedless  world, 

You  have  enough  your  own  ; 

A  pilgrim  such  as  I, 

Obscure  is  and  unknown. 

O  Elysian  isles 

Where  dwell  the  hearts  that  care, 
Shall  I  be  understood, 

Within  your  portals  fair? 

O  to  be  understood! 

When  strife  and  life  are  done: 
I'd  spurn  a  diadem, 

To  be  but  known  by  one. 

She,  straying  hillward  from  the  truckled  plain, 
Reviewing  lakes  of  undulating  grain, 

17 


Doth  muse  along  the  even'  hush  of  day 
Toward  the  village  by  the  self-same  way 
That  he,  our  lonely  dreamer  wends; 
So  subtly  kind  fate  our  fortune  bends, 
That  thus  unconsciously  each  youthful  heart 
Ts  pierced  by  Cupid's  ever  ready  dart. 

The  silk  aristas  of  trie  grasses 

O'erbend  devoutly  as  she  passes; 

And  the  fairest  bloss'ming  petals  ope' 

To  breathe   their   sweetest   perfumes   forth    in   hope 

Vying  each  to  feel  her  ringers  pressed, 

To  lift  them  unto  her  heaving  breast : 

So  her  presence,  as  she  wanders  forth. 

Lends  to  the  scene  its  vital  worth. 

Their  glances  met  from  lash  to  lash ; 
Desire  awoke  beneath  the  flash. 

Her  voice  intoned  its  soulful  art 
And  found  an  echo  in  his  heart. 

Their  fingers  touched  and  swift  there  flew 
A  thrill  that  swept  their  beings  thru. 


It  was  only  the  touch  of  your  hand ; 

But  it  thrilled  me  and  filled  me  anew, 
With  a  masterful  tenderness  deep, 

And  my  heart  went  out  to  you. 

18 


It  was  only  a  glance  from  your  eyes, 
But  I  saw  in  its  depth  a  great  light; 

And  I'm  drawn  from  the  shadow  of  dreams, 
And  thinking  of  you,  dear,  tonight. 


Now,  arm  in  arm,  as  childhood  may, 
They  tread  the  leafy  aisles  of  shade; 

Musing  anon  beside  the  brook, 

Where  mirrored  crowns  the  leafy  glade. 


The  mocking-bird,  from  verdured  throne, 
Sharp  whistles  his  audacious  song. 


As  daylight  wanes  she  closer  clings, 
All  trustful  of  love's  guarding  wings. 


O  precious  gift,  a  woman's  trust ; 
How  oft  despoiled  by  wanton  lust. 


O,  rarest,  fairest  innocence! 

Guileless  and  fearless  is  your  joy ; 
Untainted  with  tomorrow's  dread, 

Unmixed  with  worry's  vain  alloy. 


19 


Homeward.    Dark  grows  the  silent  cool 
As  moontide  creeps  upon  the  pool. 

I  ask  of  thee  the  rarest  gift 

That  ever  wakened  bliss ; 
My  soul  I'll  hang  upon  thy  lips, 

Do  they  but  yield  n  kiss. 


Good-night!     Sleep  stills  the  busy  feet, 
And  silence  calms  the  village  street. 


Good-night !     We  fain  would  linger  on, 
But  slumber  shuts  the  gates  till  dawn. 


Awake!  Awake!  cries  the  morning  breeze, 
As  it  stirs  amid  the  slumbering  trees; 
The  leaflets  clap, 

The  birds  awake, 
From  drowsy  nap 
In  dewy  brake, 
And  the  sun  smiles  o'er  the  hills. 

Awake!  Awake!  sings  the  brooklet  gay. 
As  it  rambles  down  the  pebbly  way : 
With  boist'rous  leap 

It  wakes  the  streams 
From  night-fast  sleep 

To  day-bright  dreams, 
And  the  heart  of  nature  thrills. 

20 


Awake !  Awake !  trills  the  lark  on  high, 
And  the  echoes  wake  their  faint  reply : 
The  moon  pales  dim 
And  melteth  away, 
'Neath  golden  glim 

Of  ardent  day ; 
And  the  mists  fade  o'er  the  west. 


She  wakes, 

To  find  her  thoughts  attuned  to  his  last  word, 
Unconscious  of  the  song  her  soul  hath  heard. 
Maturing  now,  before  her  lies  unfurled 
The  verdant  meadows  of  a  new-found  world, 
Wherein  the  blending  of  that  other  tone 
Perfects  the  harmony,  completes  her  own. 

He  wakes, 

Alas,  as  startled  from  a  troubled  dream ; 
Distrustful  of  the  pressure  that  doth  seem 
To  rest  so  heavily  upon  his  heart ; 
Finding  it  irksome  to  endure  the  smart 
Of  that  deep  longing  to  behold  once  more, 
Her  whom  but  once  to  know,  is  to  adore. 


Let  us  draw  round  love's  filmy  veil  awhile, 

And  leave  them  each  to  each,  the  hours  to  'guile. 

With  pen  it  were  a  sacrilege  to  tell 

Of  that  rapt  tenderness  that  weaves  its  spell : 

21 


Of  wanderings  thru  fragrant,  sheltered  nooks— 
Of  holding  hands,  and  fervent,  meaning  looks. 
Soul  rhapsodies  that  sweep  from  grave  to  gay ; 
Glad  meetings  and  sad  partings  day  to  day. 
Such  golden  hours  as  these  speed  on  so  fast 
Their  little  whiles  are  soon  forever  past : 
Yet  thru  it  all  there  is  an  ecstasy— 
A  sweet  foretaste  of  love's  eternity. 

O,  innocent  and  rapt  desires  of  youth ; 
Delicious  and  distressing  severance ! 

Hark !   Tis  twilight  and  i  seem  to  hear 
A  serenade  breeze-wafted  near. 

"Night's  dusky  shadows  softly  fall, 

Casting  their  mantle  over  all ; 

The  silvery  moon  wakes  from  her  dream. 

And  o'er  the  earth  her  jewels  gleam. 

My  heart  responsive  to  thine  own, 
Yearns  for  thee,  and  thee  alone. 

The  birdlings  sleep  within  the  nest, 

Their  weary  wings  have  need  of  rest; 

And   nestling  close  they  sweetly  sleep. 

While  stars  above,  their  vigils  keep. 

My  sleepless  eyes,  my  longing  heart, 
Find  no  repose,  save  where  thou  art. 

Sleep,  my  love,  sweet  thy  dreaming, 

While  the  moonlight  is  streaming 

22 


Thro'  thy  casement  above, 
O'er  thy  pillow,  my  love. 
O  ye  winds  waft  my  singing 
In  her  dreams  softly  ringing; 
O'er  her  lips  kisses  play 
That  shall  linger  for  aye." 


If  I  were  only  a  swallow, 

I'd  pause  not  a  moment  to  rest, 

'Till  close  by  your  bloom-clad  window 
I'd  built  me  a  snug  little  nest. 

If  I  were  only  a  moon-beam, 

I'd  glow  in  the  waves  of  your  hair; 

Rest  on  your  sweet  lips  a  moment, 
Impressing  my  fond  kisses  there. 

Were  I  a  rose  in  your  garden, 

I'd  sigh  to  be  plucked  to  your  breast ; 
And  there  'neath  your  glances  so  tender, 

I'd  wither  contented  and  blest. 


She  hears,  and  from  her  breast,  a  pure  white  rose 
She  plucks  and   kissing,  to  him  then  she  throws. 

He  stoops  and  lifts  it  from  its  dewy  bed 
Unto  his  lips.     Then  fond  good-night  is  said. 

23 


Good-night,  dearest. 

Serenely  rest: 
I   would  my  pillow 

Were  thy  breast. 
What  tho  the  parting  harrow, 
I'll  bid  thee  sweet  good-morrow. 

I  envy  the  beams  that  kiss  her  hair, 

And  the  favored  bloom  that  nestles  there : 

I  envy  the  lace  that  gently  rests 

Upon  her  undulating  breasts: 

I  envy  the  kiss  of  falling  night, 

And  her  glance  that  greets  the  morning  light 

Were  I  a  song  I'd  linger  near, 

Within  her  dreams,  to  charm  her  ear  ; 

Were  I  the  dew  the  flow'ret  sips 

I'd  fervent  melt  upon  her  lips. 

Ere  from  her  garden  then,  this  very  night, 
A  full-blown  rose  he  plucks  and  doth  indite 
To  her  these  words  his  lips  could  not  convey : 

"O  wear  this  red  rose  in  your  hair; 
It  will  exhale  love's  fragrance  rare , 

Where  e'er  thou  art : 
'Twill  neither  fade  nor  lose  its  glow, 
For  thru  its  leaves  my  blood  doth  flow ; 

It  is  my  heart." 


24 


Then,  tossing  note  and  rose  upon  her  sill, 
He  pauseth  not  upon  his  way  until 
Within  his  cot,  immured  in  pleasant  dreams. 
The  moonlight  o'er  his  slumber  streams. 

One  joyous  sunbeam,  messenger  of  morn, 

Weary  of  playing  where  new  buds  are  born, 

Strays  listlessly  between  the  tangled  vines, 

Into  the  casement  where  our  dove  reclines. 

In  wonderment  it  gazes  on  her  face 

And  fain  would  vanish  from  the  hallowed   place 

But  curious  to  pry  into  her  dreams, 

A  moment  lingers  and  upon  her  beams. 

Then,  gathering  lustre  from  her  winsome  smile, 

Dancing  within  her  golden  hair  the  while, 

Forgetful  of  all  else,  in  ecstasy 

Presses  upon  her  lips  so  fervently 

That  she  awaking  ope's  her  eyes  to  see 

What  strange  commotion  breaks  her  reverie. 

Her  beauty's  radiance  unfolding  bright, 

Doth  rob  the  sunbeam  of  its  wondrous  light, 

Which  envious  of  her  transcendent  glow, 

Back  to  the  sun  with  downcast  mien  doth  go. 


Soon  as  the  morning's  first  duties  are  done, 
She  opens  the  window  and  there  in  the  sun, 
Fast  withering,  lies  the  messenger  rose, 
And  the  note  that  is  writ  in  a  hand  she  knows. 
She  reads  and  the  crimson  flows  to  her  face, 
As  o'er  and  o'er  each  word  she  doth  trace. 

25 


Then  she  smiles  and  sighs  at  the  verses  there, 
And  fastens  the  rose-bud  red  in  her  hair, 
And  listens  as  faintly  this  song  of  love 
From  the  dying  rose  is  wafted  above. 

The  night  wind  said  to  the  dreaming  rose : 
"I'll  sing  you  a  song  that  I  heard, 

As  I  passed  a  star  one  calm,  clear  night ; 
It  lacks  but  a  pulsing  word." 

The  rose-bud  heard  the  magical  theme 

And  it  longed  to  know  the  rest; 
Till  it  woke  one  morn  in  the  hallow'd  shrine 

Of   a   maiden's   love-lorn    breast. 

"I've  found  the  word,"  said  the  dying  rose, 
"Farewell,  dear  mate,  in  the  grove; 

The  theme  is  the  song  of  sacrifice, 
And  the  pulsing  word  is  love." 

'Tween  lovers'  trysts  how  slow  Time's  even  pace : 
How  their  thoughts  haunt  the  favored  meeting  place ! 
And  loitering  moments  'twixt  them  seem  an  age, 
Finding  scarce  hours  devotions  to  engage. 
He,  in  manhood's  brusk,  impetuous  way : 
She,  in  sighings  unnumbered  thru  the  day. 
Besides,  there  is  a  weighty  question,  grave, 
That  soon  or  late  their  fortitude  must  brave : 
It  is  that  with  her  sweet  consent  he  must 
Depart,  obedient  to  his  newer  trust; 

26 


The  means  provide  wherewith  to  furnish  well 
A  cozy  nest  wherein  they  two  may  dwell. 


Poor  thing!     She  hath  this  lesson  yet  to  learn 
That  love  must  sacrifice  to  brighter  burn. 

As  sunshine  radiates  the  shadow'd  pool 
Her  joyous  mien  illumes  his  inner  life. 


The  heading  grasses  lift  their  glumous  spears, 
And  with  their  leafy  shields  besiege  the  brakes ; 
The  petals  fall  from  off  the  growing  fruit, 
And  nesting  songsters  mark  the  spring's  advance. 

So  amiable  and  of  such  noble  cast, 

Such  warmth  as  hers,  his  heart  could  ever  hold. 


Now  as  the  trysting  hour  is  here, 
We  soon  shall  see  our  twain  appear. 

Look  yonder  'neath  that  deeply  shading  larch 
Whose  limbs,  rich  verdured,  droop  in  graceful  arch. 
She  sits  amid  a  bower  of  bloom,  and  he, 
With  book  in  hand,  is  reading  fervently. 
Now  pausing  o'er  some  thought,  he  speaks : 
"Put  by  the  book !   Its  precept  and  its  word 
Conjoin  for  those  who  need  be  taught  to  feel ! 
I'd  be  thy  book,  if  thou  wouldst  read  of  bliss: 

27 


My  ev'ry  page  and  chapter  hold  one  thought 

That  makes  each  word  a  flame  that  grows  and  glows 

Until  'twould  fain  consume  thy  gentle  gaze. 

Turn  here  thy  glance,  if  thou  wouldst  read  my  heart : 

Else  like  a  cast-off  volume  it  may  die. 

The  author  yearns  but  to  express  his  soul ! 

Revert  your  glances  here  for  true  response. 

Only  in  fiction  do  true  lovers  seek 

Expression  other  than  the  subtle  spell 

That  hath  a  language  all  its  own.     My  heart 

Disdains  to  be  ensalved  by  lettered  words. 

Come !     Let  us  wander  o'er  the  shell-star'd  sands, 

Where  Carmel  throws  to  sea  its  spectral  light; 

There  tune  unto  the  ocean's  monotone, 

The  harmony  that  we  would  fain  express. 

How  true  it  blends  into  that  mighty  pulse, 

While  twilight's  interchanging  winds  convulse 

From  playful  ripple  into  boisterous  wave. 

Is  there  a  mist  before  the  glinting  stars, 

Or  doth  thy  lustre  dim  my  unused  sight? 

The  dusk  invites  to  dreamy  vistas  wide, 

Each  impulse  as  it  bounds  the  roving  tide: 

As  viewless  as  these  deeps  my  bosom  hides 

From  all  save  thee,  to  thee  alone  confides 

The  secret  of  its  mastery." 


SHE 

How  sweet  in  love's  own  contest  to  surrend', 
Conditioned  on  the  captor's  genvous  terms ! 
28 


HE 

And  when  the  victor  finds  himself  in  chains 
So  genial  that  he  still  remains. 

SHE 

Alas!  why  speak  of  strife  where  love  hath  sway? 

HE 

Behold  yon  shadow  resting  on  the  deep  ? 
It  is  an  islet  held  in  ocean's  keep. 
Thou  art  my  island,  I  the  pressing  sea 
Whose  loving  billows  gently  circle  thee : 
Whose  tempest  held  in  meek  subjection  laves 
Devotedly  the  strand  that  stays  its  zeal. 
Thou  grot  of  beauty,  sun  and  blossom  glad, 
I  long  to  know  the  depths  thy  thoughts  conceal, 
But  my  faint  ray  scarce  glances  'neath  the  waves. 


Enisled  with  thee  in  some  far  sea, 

With  no  distracting  entity 

To  guile  us  from  love's  reverie, 

How  blest  'twould  be ! 

There,  in  enthralling  quiet  rove, 
Wherein  whose  solitude  is  wove 
The  mystic  gossamer  of  love, 
The  world  above ! 

29 


There,  from  an  wave  encircled  height, 
Forget  the  moment's  byward  flight, 
Oblivious  of  day  or  night, 

In  rapture's  light. 

When  firmamental,  star-beam'd  glows 
Glanced  brightly  over  tidal  flows, 
And  moon-beams  fell  like  gentle  snows, 
We  would  repose. 

The  morn  we'd  scan  for  ships  aroam, 
White  breasting  thru  the  curving  foam, 
With  no  regretful  wish  for  home, 
'Neath  heaven's  dome. 

Thus  bide  until  death's  phantom  ship 
Shall  signal  o'er  our  final  trip, 
And  o'er  the  tide  our  souls  shall  slip, 
Rapt,  lip  to  lip! 

Together  t'ward  the  unknown  world, 
Twined  soul  in  soul  and  pinions  furled, 
O'er  calm  or  stressful  tempest  hurled, 
Your  soul  and  mine. 

SHE 

O'er  peaceful  night,  alas!  the  parting  hour 
Creeps  all  too  heavy  on  my  buoyant  heart ! 

30 


Upon  the  east  a  cloud  spread-winged  for  flight, 
Awaits  to  bear  the  moon  across  the  sea  of  night : 
When  from  her  glowing  face  earth's  shadows  lift, 
With  queenly  grace,  within  her  ark  she'll  drift, 
While  down  the  starry  rifts  will  scintillate 
Her  radiant  glances  o'er  her  wide  estate. 
Throughout  her  glory  beams  a  wistful  ray, 
Pursuant  ever  of  fast-fleeting  day : 
So,  thru  the  glamor  of  love's  regal  spell, 
My  heart  transcends  with  joy  our  brief  farewell; 
Inspired  to  follow  as  yon  royal  moon, 
Thy  beam  that  shall  return  to  me  ere-soon. 

HE 

Unlike  the  moon,  thy  suit  is  not  in  vain; 
And  tho  I  may  depart,  I  shall  return  again. 

SHE 

Alas !  dread  absence  and  adversity ! 
Must  we  yet  taste  your  bitter  draught? 

HE 

Absence!     What  doleful  memories  of  grief 
Cling  round  thy  shrine:     O  Time's  unerring  thief! 
Thou  steal'st  the  richest  moments  from  our  days, 
Divert'st  the  paths  of  life  in  varied  ways 
That  lead  us  off  in  vain,  alluring  quest, 
Waking  within  thy  court  a  saddened  guest. 

SHE 
Misfortune   is   oft   fortune   in   disguise. 

31 


HE 

I'll  cast  my  lot  with  thine  and  be  it  well 

Or  ill,  'twere  blest  while  you  were  by  my  side. 

Alas! 

If  absence  were  a  test  1  soon  must  try 
The  moorings  of  my  love's  security : 
And  'neath  the  city's  vice  alluring  glow, 
Or  in  the  shadow  of  adversity, 
Must  lay  the  cornerstone  of  life. 
Fear  not  that  I  shall  falter  in  the  fray : 
These  arms  are  strong  but  to  encircle  thee : 
These  eyes  shall  not  be  led  save  by  thy  light : 
This  breast  respond  but  to  o'er-read  thy  words : 
This  mind  exalt  but  to  reflect  thine  own. 

0  Time,  unravel  quickly  in  your  flight ! 

1  long  to  set  the  keystone  of  the  arch 
That  joins  our  fates  in  perfect  unity. 


Alas,  why  must  I  thrust  the  painful  dart 

And  now  recall  that  these  so  soon  must  part , 

E'en  for  a  while :    I  would  it  were  not  so, 

But  that  life  is  uncertain  we  do  know. 

So,  standing  by  the  rustic  garden  gate, 

We'll  view  their  parting,  for  the  hour  is  late : 

Now  all  their  plans  thru  smiles  and  tears  are  laid 

He,  brave  in  manly  love.     She,  gentle  maid, 

Intuitive  of  what  the  days  foretell, 

Is  loath  to  leave  him  in  this  first  farewell. 

32 


The  moon  withdraws  her  light,  O  faithless  ray, 
And  two  dim  shadows  silent  fade  away. 

Have  you  ever  walked  at  twilight 

When  all  nature  was  aglow, 
And  beheld  the  somber  high-light 

That  the  setting  sun  did  throw  ? 

Have  you  ever  viewed  the  ocean 
From  an  high  and  rock-bound  shore, 

And  not  felt  a  new  emotion 
That  you  ne'er  had  felt  before? 

Have  you  ever  thought  of  parting 
As  the  ships  their  paths  divide, 

And  not  felt  the  tears  a-starting 
For  a  soul  that's  left  your  side  ? 


Drifting  afar,  beyond  perceptive  view, 
A  sail  descendeth  o'er  the  ocean's  rim — 
Where  sky  and  sea  conjoin ;  can  we  discern 
O'er  which  expanse  its  course  directs? 


33 


PART  II. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 
PART  II 

Picture  mentally  a  cloister, 

Far  removed  from  traffic's  boister; 

In  a  world-forgot  seclusion, 

Where  may  press  no  cloy  intrusion: 

On  a  grassy  hillock  mounding, 
Gray  adobe  walls  surrounding, 
Stands  the  mission,  silent,  lonely, 
Roused  by  winds  and  billows  only, 
That  grow  boisterous  on  the  beaches, 
When  the  storm  far  inland  reaches. 

Quaint  this  Mexic'  architecture 
Of  a  homely  imperfecture : 
Crude,  but  picturesquely  seeming, 
Unawakened,  all  a-dreaming. 

Thru  a  doorway,  scarcely  arching, 
Stream  the  pilgrims,  meekly  marching; 
Kneeling  oft  in  salutation, 
Vowing  o'er  the  font's  libation. 

In  the  rude  pavilion,  nighted, 
From  low  windows  dimly  lighted, 
Spectras  from  the  sun  are  beaming 
Thru  the  great  star-window  streaming. 

37 


Candles  lift  their  auras  yellow, 
Casting  shadows  deep  and  mellow, 
Clustering  round  the  sacred  altar, 
Where  the  penitential  falter. 

Bells  announce  each  holy  station 
In  the  service'  intonation, 
While  responsively  replying, 
Wafts  sweet  music,  softly  sighing. 

From  the  cloistered  court  descending, 
Steps  fall  to  a  garden,  wending 
Where,  amid  a  fountain  spraying, 
Gaily  the  bright  sun  is  playing. 

Paths  wind  under  arbored  bower, 
Where  the  grape  vine  hangs  its  flower: 
In  odd  groups  strange  blossoms  massing, 
Charm  the  eye  their  borders  passing. 

Wending  on  we  view  a  valley 
Verdant,  where  the  streamlets  dally, 
And  green  cotton-woods  o'er-bending, 
Mark  the  river's  seaward  wending. 

Slopeward  'neath  low  cypress  showing, 
Spectral  shafts  of  granite  glowing, 
Waken  memories  in  keeping 
\Vith  the  dust  beneath  them  sleeping. 

38 


Near  the  curving  bay  abiding 

Is  a  peaceful  village  hiding, 

Whose  gray  smoke  blends  with  the  billows, 

Where  the  sea-mist  whitely  pillows. 

Eastward,  sombre  mountains  merging, 
With  the  azure  sky  converging, 
Their  long  shadows  seaward  throwing, 
Where  the  heaving  tides  are  flowing. 

Restfulness  this  scene  surrounding, 
No  disturbing  thought  confounding; 
Tis  a  calm  for  meditation, 
Far  removed  from  rude  negation. 


Moving  with  weary  tread  o'er  yonder  height, 

A  band  of  holy  friars,  from  pilgrimage, 

Toils   pray'rfully  toward  Carmellos'  halls, 

Chanting  their  benisons  devotedly, 

While  vespers  sounds  from  out  the  cloistered  walls. 

With  flaming  brand  and  scourging  of  the  breast 

A  bent  and  limping  figure  presses  thru  the  host 

And  kneeling  in  the  shadow  of  his  saint, 

Uplifts  his  ringing  voice  unto  his  God. 

Who  is  this  wondrous  being,  radiant, 
With  love-illumined  countenance? 
It  is  the  noble  padre,  Serra,  who, 
With  loving  sacrifice  hath  chained  the  hearts 
Of  all  the  wild,  unlettered  host. 

39 


Sound  thou,  the  bell!     In  gladsome  welcome  ring! 
Greet  thou    the  pilgrim  o'er  his  weary  march. 


The  monastery  bells  chime  solemnly 
As  each  doth  cast  his  staff  away  and  pause 
With  heaven  fronding  hands  beneath  the  cross, 
To  ask  a  blessing  on  his  last  abode, 
Wherein  whose  silent  walls  doth  peace  abide. 
(Virgo  Maria, 

O  gentle  queen, 
Our  consolation, 
Mother  serene.) 

Removed  from  follies  temporal  and  vain, 
Old  age  here  shrinks  from  callow  revelry. 
(Thy  wayward  children 

Cry  unto  thee, 
Wailing  and  weeping, 
In  pity  see.) 

Here  wait  the  summons  of  the  Priest  of  priests. 
Enshrined  within  this  holy  sepulchre. 
(Salve  Regina, 

Direct  our   fate, 
Virgo  Maria, 
Sweet  advocate.) 

Now  from  out  the  cloister  swells  the  song, 
The  deep-toned  organ  and  the  singing  throng. 

40 


O  God  Almighty! 

Thy  children  despise  not; 
Affliction  assails, 

Thy  goodness  disguise  not : 
Unto  Thy  glory, 

Forgive  our  transgressions; 
Deliver  from  woe, 

Hear  humble  confessions. 

"Dominus  det  nobis  suam  pacem !" 

(Here  in  Thy  Dwelling 
Thy  spirit  attend  us; 

In  adoration, 

Christ's  virtue  defend  us.) 

''Dei  genitrix,  intercede  pronobis!" 

Amen 

In  the  cloister's  judgment  chamber, 
'Neath  the  torch's  flickering  amber, 
Deep'ning,  mystic  shadows  tremble 
As  the  hooded  monks  assemble. 

Incense  from  the  censers  flowing, 
Round  their  pungent  vapors  blowing, 
Slowly  thru  the  air  shafts  sifting. 
Distant  sounds  of  music  drifting 
From  above  in  waves  disbursing, 
There  are  choristers  rehearsing. 

41 


Grouped  about  in  converse  varied, 

Monks  have  curiously  tarried : 

Some  in  heated  argument 

Speak  out  in  tones  irreverent; 

Others  more  devout  intoning 

O'er  their  beads,  their  Aves  moaning. 


Within  his  dungeon  lone  awaits 
The  culprit,  and  he  contemplates 
Thru  a  rift  the  graying  heaven, 
As  night  pales  the  gold  of  even'. 


In  his  high  cathedra  waiting, 
O'er  the  charges  meditating, 
Sits  the  judging  Padre,  holy : 
As  they  pass  the  monks  bend  lowly. 


The  curse  prepared  with  book  and  bell, 
Three  lighted  candles  flick'ring  tell 
Of  excommunication's  rite, 
Unless  repentence  meet,  respite. 

As  nearing  footsteps  measured  fall, 
A  breathless  hush  o'ersweeps  the  hall : 
A  creaking  door  is  opened  wide, 
And  led,  with  guards  on  either  side, 
A  priest  accused  of  heresy, 
Beshorn  the  robes  of  prophecy, 
42 


Steps  calmly  and  with  steady  pace 
Unto  the  trial's  allotted  place. 
His  soulful  eyes  survey  the  scene, 
A  smile  o'ersweeps  his  glance  serene, 
As  from  the  lights'  unsteady  leer 
A  host  of  earnest  faces  peer. 
Upon  his  slender,  pallid  face, 
A  heart-deep  woe  hath  left  its  trace : 
His  unbent  form  betokens  strength, 
Tho'  age  hath  left  its  mark  at  length 
Upon  his  brow  and  splendid  head 
Where  crowns  a  mass  of  silvery  thread. 
With  arms  enfolded  o'er  his  breast 
He  waits  with  growing  interest 
The  padre's  solemn  voice. 


PADRE 

Brothers,  we  have  assembled  here  to  try 
One  of  our  host,  beloved,  whose  ripe  age 
Fulfilled  with  thoughtful  generosity, 
Commends  our  deep  regard. 
From  bias  free  and  unimpassioned  we 
Must  pass  upon  his  guilt  or  innocence. 

Good  judgment  is  unto  itself  a  law: 
For  and  Against  are  ever  pledged  to  strife, 
With  Right  or  Wrong  on  either  side ; 
'Till  Reason's  intercession  bids  for  peace. 

43 


Most  envied  of  all  gifts  the  pow'rs  bestow, 
Most  prized  of  all  endowments  is  good  sense, 
Whose  sweet  serenity  and  steadfast  poise 
Doth  balance  in  its  grasp  the  steels  of  might. 

Accused,  stand  forth,  where  I  may  view  anear 
Thy  well  beloved  countenance : 
My  eyes,  no  longer  youthful,  see  not  well; 
Tho'  thou  hast  nearly  run  thy  years,  I  am 
Thine  elder  by  at  least  a  score. 

[stress 

These  steadfast  walls  that  have     withstood     Time's 
Were  fashioned  by  these  now  enfeebled  hands. 
When  long  ago,  I  stood  on  yonder  height 
And  gazed  adown  this  then  unfertile  vale, 
I  chose  this  site  and  with  my  loyal  host 
Matured  this  now  most  beauteous  spot. 
The  vine,  the  fig  and  olive  we  did  plant: 
The  sward  where  poppies  lift  their  golden  cups, 
We  nurtured  from  the  river's  ample  flow. 
Then  settlers  came,  and  lo,  yon  village  sprung 
From  shifting  alkali  to  em'rald  shade. 
Here,  all  that's  mortal  of  that  faithful  host 
Sleeps  in  the  hush  of  yonder  slope,  while  I 
Alone  remain  to  number  them. 
This  reminescent  mood,  it  is  but  meet, 
Rebuke  all  thought  of  vain  discordant  strife: 
Let  no  harsh  word  disturb  their  peaceful  rest. 

My  brother,  it  is  claimed 
That  you,  too  zealously,  have  taken  part 

44 


In  vague  discussions  which  do  not  accord 
With  that  strict  orthodoxy  of  our  vows; 
And  from  opinions,  all  too  free  expressed, 
Have  misconstrued  the  concepts  of  our  creed. 
Night  wanderings,  mysterious,  have  oft 
The  quiet  of  thy  brothers'  rest  disturbed; 
And  when  questioned  as  to  what  disorder 
Had  befogged  thy  wits,  didst  answer  not, 
Or  worse,  didst  mock  at  thine  inquisitors. 


PRIEST 

Most  worthy  father,  venerable,  just, 

I  do  deny  misconduct  thru  intent ; 

But  that  I  differ  somewhat  in  my  views 

From  those  accepted  of  our  faith,  I  do  confess : 

I  have  searched  deeply  for  elusive  Truth 

And  syllogized  inductively  until 

The  night  to  lucent  day  hath  merged : 

I  have  absented  from  devotionals, 

Not  thru  a  disregard,  but  studious, 

Could  not  withdraw  the  fixture  of  my  thought. 

Oft  I  have  paced  the  thoughtful  watch  and  seen 

A  shore-light  gleam  from  out  the  mists  ahead; 

Or  plucked  from  out  the  ocean  of  unrest 

The  fruitful  twig  of  rich  discovery : 

Oft  in  the  nocturn  of  the  winds,  a  voice 

Hath  whispered  to  my  undetermined  sails 

And  I  have  grasped  the  helm  with  surer  faith, 

And  held  my  course  against  the  surge  of  doubt. 

45 


PADRE 

It  were  not  wisdom  to  o'erreach 
In  striving  for  the  heavenly  breach : 
The  mind  defaults  just  on  the  edge 
Wherein  we  place  the  entering  wedge. 
Reason  hath  its  limitation — 
Past  that  sweeps  imagination: 
Imagination  given  sway 
Doth  smudge  the  beam  of  truth  away : 
Take  truth  from  our  deductions  and 
We've  lost  the  spirit's  golden  strand : 
Live  in  harmony  with  the  best, 
Aspire  and  trust  God  for  the  rest. 

PRIEST 

From  out  the  tangle  of  inwoven  creeds, 
Reflecting  in  an  hyalescent  glow, 
I  seem  to  sense  an  undiscovered  pow'r 
That  promises  dominion  over  this, 
The  corporeal,  non-immortal    part. 

Jesus  hath  said : 

"Let  him  that  seeketh  cease  not  from  his  search 
Until  he  find,  and  when  he  finds  he  shall  wonder. 

PADRE 

When  all  is  written,  thought  and  said, 
Our  philosophy  doth  slip  a  thread ; 
And  tangled  in  the  weaver's  rack. 
We  find  that  we  have  woven  back : 

46 


Hub  centered,  as  within  the  wheel, 
The  goal  lies  just  beyond  our  feel. 

PRIEST 

"With  wondering  ye  shall  reach  the  kingdom :" 

Life  is  circuitous.     From  primal  start 

It  weaves  its  endlessness  around  the  soul. 

Creation  moves  in  cycles  of  circles : 

Mind  may  not  pause  nor  seek  a  shorter  way ; 

All  must  move  with  the  soul's  advance. 

Misguided  motion  soon  destroys  itself, 

For  error  is  the  seed  of  death: 

Chance  is  a  false,  misleading  light. 

This  little  sphere  I  hold  within  my  hand 

Is  like  a  soul  dissevered  from  its  God. 

Involuntary  of  its  own  impulse 

I  toss  the  pebble  in  the  buoyant  air : 

It  falls  to  earth !    Why  doth  it  not  remain 

Steadfastly  as  our  whirling  orb? 

Because  my  hand,  the  motive  pow'r,  withdrawn, 

Permits  attraction  to  reclaim  its  own: 

Thus,  did  the  Master  hand  of  All  withdraw 

Its  motive  from  the  starry  universe, 

'Twould  scatter  into  dusty  nothingness. 

Gravitation's  an  inexplicit  word 

Out-coined  from  cause.     What  then  is  cause  but  will, 

As  will  is  but  the  beaming  of  a  wish 

From  out  the  Master  MIND: 

I  gravitate  as  thou  and  as  the  star; 

Having  cause,  insensed  by  the  Master  Will. 

47 


Why  should  I  prove  Less  constant  than  the  sphere 

Whose  superior  I  am,  dissevering 

From  the  Almighty  cause? 

Superstition  is  a  vague  foresense  of 

The  incorporeality  of  soul, 

And  is  significant  of  eternal  life. 

Limited  understanding  is  the  blind 

That  makes  what  IS  incomprehensible. 

Space  is  limitless  until  mind  grasps  it. 

Phantasmas  of  notional  words  conspire 

To  make  us  undetermined  of  our  course: 

Shall  mind  be  awed  by  arbitrary  words 

And  humbly  bow  to  insignificance? 

Every  mystery  invites  the  mind, 

Thru  vistas  of  awe,  unto  extension : 

Man  is  discovering  his  pre-estate ; 

Nature  is  subsiding.    Soul  is  aroused ! 

The  mountains  crumble  'neath  the  tread  of  years: 

The  vallies  overflow,  the  forests  melt : 

The  streams  grow  muddy  with  devouring  wash, 

And  tempests  unabating  fret  the  seas. 

Think  you 

That  I  can  lull  my  Spirit  to  repose 
When  triumph  brightens  o'er  the  sky  of  doubt, 
When  flashings  blazon  from  the  eye  of  Truth ; 
When  words,  whose  blighting  follies  have  deceived 
With  ills  and  sorrows,  God's  true  image,  man, 
Are  melting  into  error,  meaningless? 
To  me  this  is  a  most  impressive  hour, 
With  whose  outreaching  tide  I  must  expand : 

48 


If  this  be  cause  for  punishment,  proceed; 

My  soul,  thy  mortal  laws,  hath  far  outwinged ! 

Truth  is  but  part  conveyed  within  the  word : 

'Tis  what  the  word  awakens  in  the  man. 

Let  ev'ry  word  of  God's  great  book  be  lost, 

Disbursed  to  alphabetic  senselessness: 

Let  history  and  all  tradition  fail, 

And  yesterday  be  blotted  from  the  mind : 

In  that  chaotic  dawn  I  still  would  hear 

The  exclamations  of  the  inner  voice, 

And  I  would  choose  from  out  the  scattered  font 

Enough  to  frame  the  inward  faith  I  feel. 

Christ  would  still  whisper  of  abiding  peace, 

Though  I  had  never  heard  his  story  told. 

Words  are  vague  masks  of  what  they  seem  to  mean ; 

The  which  existed  ere  a  word  was  coined. 

A  dictionary  is  a  harmless  toy 

Until  our  wordy  structures  make  obscure 

By  doubtful  reasoning,  the  Truth. 

Ah,  when  one  flash  of  consciousness  assails, 
Our  whole  negation  crumbles  structureless ! 
Physics  may  mould  the  argumentive  clay, 
But  God  must  breathe  the  leaven  in. 

"And  when  he  reaches  the  Kingdom,  he  shall  find  rest." 
The  glory  for  the  truth  but  seldom  falls 
Upon  the  tireless,  steadfast  delver's  head, 
Who  to  his  unresponsive  eon  sings, 
Survives  the  scorn  and  sighs  unto  the  winds. 

49 


Where  are  ye,  earnest  souls,  that  gathered  round 

The  singers  of  your  time  and  from  their  depths 

Drew  forth  immortal  lays? 

Where  the  enquiring  listeners,  devout, 

Who  longed  to  hear  and  hearing,  thought  and  felt? 

Such  were  the  inspirationers  of  song — 

The  great  incentives  to  aspire,  attain ! 

Alas  for  one  such  as  some  stellar  mind 

Hath  drawn  about  its  fascinating  flame ! 

The  one-ly-ness  of  being  nought  and  yet 

Of  thinking  and  of  feeling  mighty  truths, 

Is  like  unto  that  unresponsive  hush 

That  falleth  o'er  the  quiet  desert  sands, 

Where  ev'ry  forward  step  doth  leave  its  print 

Of  loneliness  and  barren  gain. 

PADRE 

I  find  no  grave  offense  in  thy  research : 
But  it  is  further  charged  you  have  denied 
Infallibility. 

PRIEST 

Not  with  irreverence:     But  I  have  marked, 
"How  weak  and  vain  a  thing  is  man :" 
We  rear  our  thrones  and  elevate  our  kings, 
And  worship  at  their  holy  shrines: 

Alas! 

He  of  the  vast,  innumerable  host 
Declares  and  lo,  earth's  glories  fade  away, 
And  we  forsake  our  toys  and  follow  Him. 

50 


Man's  days  are  as  the  grass, 
As  flowers  of  the  field ; 

He  flourisheth  awhile, 
Then  unto  dust  must  yield. 

The  wind  it  passeth  o'er, 
His  deeds  are  all  forgot; 

There  is  an  eye  that  marks — 
His  God  forgetteth  not. 

The  conflict  is  between  prophet  and  priest; 

Ministers  of  intuition  and  sense : 

Spirit  and  material — 

The  perfect-real  and  imperfect-unreal. 

There  is  no  middle  ground  of  true  or  false, 

Mere  sense  prefers  that  which  we  see  and  touch, 

But  sight  and  touch  are  mere  environment. 

Man  hath  the  organism  of  the  gnat, 

The  possibilities  of  God  within: 

A  prophet  or  an  insect  as  he  wills. 

Environment  doth  hypnotize  the  weak, 

Who  blindly  follow,  while  the  stronger  seek. 

The  sturdy  mind  counts  its  surroundings  nil, 

And  shapes  the  circumstances  to  the  Will. 

Condition  is  created  by  desire 

Effecting  that  to  which  we  most  aspire. 

Greatness  is  individuality, 

And  personality's  the  God  within. 

Your  man  hath  pow'r  without  authority. 


51 


PADRE 

Perfection  is  measured  by  harmony 
And  unity  of  purpose  is  our  strength : 
Digressions  of  the  individual 
Disturb  the  tranquil  waters  of  the  whole, 
Which  can,  with  meek  concessions,  recompose. 
Our  compact  must  maintain  inviolate. 
Contumacy  doth  constitute  offense 
Against  the  letter  of  our  covenant. 

Therefore, 

I  must  expell  thee,  indeterminate : 
Dependent  on  your  calmer  reasoning. 
Until  such  time,  it  is  our  law's  decree 
That  you  shall,  as  our  sexton,  serve  the  dead ; 
And  must  not  look  upon  a  living  brother's  face 
On  pain  of  death. 

The  spade,  the  rake  and  trowl,  your  implements 
Wherewith  to  fill  and  clear  and  seal  each  grave. 
And  when  it  comes  at  last  your  time  to  die 
You  cannot  rest  among  the  sanctified, 
But  separate,  alone,  your  grave  unmarked. 
Forget  not  what  your  fate  must  be,  repent ! 
This  skull  be  thy  companion ;  mark  it  well ! 
A  sorry  narrative  it  could  unfold. 
Reflect  upon  the  time  that  bone  did  glow 
With  thy  desire  to  delve  and  know : 
Behold  its  futile  emptiness — 
Hath  ought  of  knowledge  left  impress? 
Its  hollowness  is  likened  to 
The  vanities  thou  dost  pursue. 

52 


Beware  the  goblet  of  desire! 

Its  draught  consumes  with  quenchless  fire. 

It  will  thy  zeal  to  languor  lull, 

If  thou  but  contemplate  this  skull 

Whose  former  occupant,  like  thee, 

Was  misled  into  heresy. 

Farewell,  it  grieves  me,  but  the  law 

Is  merciless! 

PRIEST 
(  Taking  SkulL  ) 

(Thou  shunn'd,  affrighting  sphere  of  bone, 

We  shall  be  friends,  for  thou  dost  own 

A  spirit  more  than  mortal,  fair, 

That  dwelleth  in  the  viewless  air. 

On  thy  kind  features  I  can  trace 

More  gentleness  than  oft  doth  grace 

The  aspect  of  our  brotherhood : 

Ah,  from  thy  strangely  hollow  eyes 

I  sense  the  glance  of  rapt  surprise 

That  met,  in  thy  uncertain  night, 

The  everlasting  flood  of  light: 

I  view  not  emptiness,  but  pure 

And  yearning  looks  that  still  endure : 

I  sense  thy  lips  warm  in  the  glow 

Of  living  spirit  in  its  flow : 

I  feel  the  moisture  of  thy  breath 

And  know  thou  hast  not  met  with  death. 

They  think  to  mock  me  with  thy  fate, 

Thou  who  hast  found  thy  true  estate! 

53 


0  spirit  of  departed,  hear ! 

1  fain  would  have  thee  hover  near.) 

Most  pious  judge, 
As  you  have  found  me  guilty, 
Let  my  sentence  now  commence : 
The  judgment  scales  of  God  weigh  right, 
The  finite  and  the  infinite; 
Man  vainly  tips  the  evened  pole 
And  passes  judgment  on  the  soul : 

Is  not  his  righteousness  sustained 

By  that  All-seeing,  unexplained? 

With  varied  creeds  we  overlay 

Our  paths  with  drift  and  lose  the  way : 

All  we  are  brothers  in  a  common  strife, 

Whose  object  is  eternal  life. 

I  much  prefer  the  unblazed  trail 

That  leads  me  guessing  thru  the  vale, 

Where  some  surprise  enchants  each  turn; 

A  song,  a  brook,  a  flow'r  or  fern. 

Ye  stars  that  gild  so  small  a  place 
Within  the  sky's  unfathomed  space, 
How  my  winged  soul  aspires  to  you, 
Bright  pilots  of  eternity. 
What  message  do  ye  signal  o'er? 
Gleamest  of  souls  have  gone  before? 
Or,  are  your  searchlights  ever  trained 
Upon  some  longing  unattained? 

54 


O,  I  could  compass  many  score 
Of  such  as  ye,  bright  heav'nly  lore, 
Within  this  spacious  breast  of  mine 
Wherein  your  combined  light,  divine, 
Would  pale  beneath  the  lucent  glow 
Of  my  lit  soul  and  never  show. 

Thou  art  not  merely  for  our  joy, 
Nor  yet  to  glimmer  and  destroy. 
O,  since  I've  grasped  this  newer  thought 
And  glimpsed  into  the  goal  I've  sought, 
I've  sensed  a  deeper  aim  than  gain, 
And  felt  a  joy  transcending  pain : 
Ecstatic  past  all  common  ken, 
Beyond  the  rich  device  of  pen. 

O  judge, 

Speed  o'er  your  sentence  now  I  pray, 
It  but  concerns  insensate  clay; 
Which  being  nought  and  all  unreal 
Hath  not  the  pow'r  to  know  and  feel. 


The  judgment  book  is  folded  tight, 
The  candles  three  bereft  of  light : 
The  bell-man  pulls  the  swaying  rope, 
That  echoes  o'er  surviving  hope. 

Then  with  that  same  unfailing  love, 
This  last  farewell  he  bids  to  each : 

55 


"I'll  gather  ye  all  on  the  harvest  day, 

As  the  leaves  are  swept  from  the  tree  away ; 

And  ye  shall  praise  my  loving  care, 

When  ye  awake  in  realms  most  fair." 


The  monks  have  turned  their  backs  on  him 

As  slowly  down  the  passage  dim 

He  wends  unto  the  outer  door: 

One  ling'ring  glance,  then  never  more 

Will  he  look  on  the  faces  there 

Till  death  hath  passed  them  to  his  care. 


His  brow  illumed  by  that  rapt  spell 

Of  sweet  forgiveness,  doth  impell 

The   monks  to  tell  their    beads    with    vim 

And  some  must  needs  glance  after  him. 

A  flood  of  glancing  harmony  ascends, 

As  solemn  voices  chant  the  vesper  hymn. 


Divinest  of  mysteries,  sweet  music. 
How  lightly  thou  dost  lift  all  care ! 
With  this  sweet  music  inly   heard,   I   need 
No  subtle  technic  to  express  my  soul ; 
No  practiced  art  to  breathe  forth  ecstacies ; 
But  modulated  to  delicious  thought, 
Celestial   harmonies  pour  forth  at  will. 

56 


Freed      from     the     stifling    walls    of     stone 
Beneath  the  moon  he  walks  alone; 
The  glowing  regions  lend  a  star 
That  sweeps  across  the  night  afar 
To  meet  his  soul,  and  they  fare  on, 
Companioned  'till  the  wake  of  dawn. 


57 


PART  III. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 
PART  III 

A  frugal  meanwhile  brings  its  just  reward, 
And  hastens  on  our  twain's  rapt  wedding  day. 

With  pen  'twere  vain  to  picture  you  the  joy 
Of  this  rapt  moment,  if  you  have  not  wed. 

O  mystic  vow  that  binds  two  loving  souls 
Into  one  perfect  harmony,  or  hurls 
Them  from  the  heights  to  abject  misery. 

Fair !  by  all  that  makes  a  woman  fair, 

So  fair  is  she. 
Dear!  by  all  that  makes  a  woman  dear, 

So  dear  to  me. 

Nursed  on  a  noble  mother's  breast, 
With  all  her  tend'rest  graces  blest, 
Beneath  a  father's  watchful  eye, 

Her  purity. 

Kind  and  patient,  ever  thoughtful  she, 

Unknown  to  strife; 
True  as  only  woman's  heart  can  be, 

My  joy,  my  life. 
My  consolation  night  and  day, 
My  guardian  through  life's  troubl'd  way, 
The  inspiration  of  my  dreams — 

My  loving  wife. 

61 


With  reverential  mien  approach  this  gate. 
It  opens  to  the  haven  of  content, 
The  bourne  of  ev'ry  heav'nly  attribute. 
Herein  the  fadeless  vine  of  Life  doth  yield 
Delicious  fruits  to  those  who  will  partake. 
Herein  is  cast  to  our  design  the  future's  hopes; 
The  betterment  or  curse  of  human  kind. 
Tho  'tis  assailed  at  ev'ry  port  it  stands 
Unshattered  save  where  trust  gives  o'er  to  doubt- 
In  Faith  it  lifts  its  domes  to  deathless  suns. 

If  thus  ye  feel,  approach,  thou  hast  the  key- 
Else  shun  it  for  some  commonplace  estate. 

There  is  an  inner  life  no  spirit  may 

Intrude  upon. 

The  sanctum  of  this  inner,  secret  life, 

This  sacred  portal  of  our  beings'  own, 

Opens  to  Love  and  God  alone : 

Here  understanding  lifts  the  veil  and  reads, 

Drawing  sweet  music  from  a  lyre  of  Truth. 

When  we  assume  the  duties  of  a  home, 
We  must  feel  equal  to  maintain  its  thrift. 
Not  lavishly,  but  well  within  our  means : 
Some  small  amount  put  by  for  morrow's  need. 
Unless  thou'rt  blest  beyond  the  average  man, 
Thou  can'st  count  no  assistance  from  near  kin. 
Alone  thou  standst  on  thy  uncertain  craft 

62 


To  founder  or  to  sail  successfully. 

Tis  better  so.    Let  each  his  own  provide 

But  look  to  't  that  no  other  take  the  helm : 

Be  captain,  compass,  steersman  all  in  one; 

And  if  a  mutineer  appears  aboard, 

Act  quickly  and  suspend  him  to  the  yard. 

The  welfare  of  your  ship  demands  accord: 

The  more  so  when  dread  storms  affret  the  seas. 


What  need  of  books  if  we  could  read  the  heart? 
How  our  deep  longings,  so  indefinite 
Before  the  welding  of  two  souls  in  one, 
Learn  their  requital  in  love's  rapt  response ; 
And,  as  we  drink  the  nectar  deep,  our  joy 
Expands  unto  the  full  of  Life's  desire. 

O  joy  that  by  its  violence  resembles  pain 
And  forges  each  to  each  thru  life  or  death ! 
O  rapt  voluptuousness!  essence  divine; 
Lending  to  feeling,  soul ;  to  seeing,  Heav'n ! 

O  happiness !    I  have  not  passed  you  by ; 
Have  I  not  recognized  and  held  you  fast? 

How  can  we  mortify  the  flesh   when  form 
Reflects  the  Master  in  each  graceful  curve? 
Containing  in  its  mold  the  plan  of  worlds, 
And  in  its  thought,  the  All-Creating  Pow'r. 

63 


Here  modesty  reveals  and  beauty  glows 
Or  vulgars  into  commonplace. 

The  dazzling  words  of  courtship  come  to  naught, 

Or  find  in  deed  and  action  their  desire. 

All  affectation  unto  love  unmasks, 

As  pretense  blushes  in  the  light  of  Truth. 

We  must  take  unto  self  another's  thought, 
Feeling  their  feelings  as  we  feel  our  own. 

Mere  outward  feeling  is  ebullient  foam 

Whose  effervescence  is  at  heart  unrest; 

And  whose  expiring  throb  leaves  no  consoling  thought. 

We  are  as  noble  as  our  love. 


Marriage  is  but  an  holy  slavery 
Approved  by  laws  that  do  not  lend  one  jot 
Unto  the  happiness  that  we  have  sought : 
We  bind  ourselves  to  misery  or  joy, 
According  to  our  grasp  of  its  estate. 


The  eternal  unfitness  of  some  minds 

Is  blamable  for  love's  delinquencies. 

We  should  look  into  and  discern  how  vague 

Our  little  sphere  of  worldly  happiness. 

Life  should  be  fashioned  on  some  nobler  plan. 

Above  the  candle  glow  of  passion's  flame, 

64 


Where  love  is  but  the  fundamental  base, 
Whose  dome,  the  Soul,  aspires  beyond  the  mist. 

The  arts  should  be  a  means  unto  one  end ; 

Love's  divine  personification. 

How  fruitless  all  our  mighty  efforts  flow'r, 

Unless  our  aim  transcends  the  fleeting  hour. 

At  most,  we  scarcely  touch  the  goblet's  rim, 

Our  thirsting  lips  but  sip  deific  life ; 

Our  all  too  frenzied  passion  breaks  the  spell; 

The  ultimate  forever  lifts  away ; 

The  while  we  reach  up  and  forever  up. 

O'ergrasping  in  enthusiastic  zeal, 

Self-interest  destroys  our  harmony: 

The  gen'rous  impulse  is  our  only  hope. 

The  thing  possessed,  complete  and  actual, 
The  having,  holding,  incontestably, 
Doth  seem  to  retroact,  thru  confidence, 
Into  a  state  of  calm,  quiescent  faith : 
Until  that  self-regard,  love  oftimes  wakes, 
Exclusive  for  its  interests,  invites 
A  misery  far  deeper  than  all  else. 

No  trouble  to  be  true  to  that  sweet  force 
That  calleth  out  our  Spirit's  best. 

Exhilarant,  her  joyous  merriment 
Charms  all  who  meet  its  effervescent  flow. 

65 


I'm  a  two  edged  blade  that  cleaves  the  wielder's  breast ; 

I  am  an  instrument  of  peace-destroying  might ; 

I  am  the  urgent  impulse  of  unstaid  desire ; 

And  am  an  evil  serpent,  conscienceless  and  cold — 

The  bane  of  life;  the  blight  of  love;  the  prod  of  hate; 

The  false  concealed  beneath  the  kindly  mask  of  good ; 

The  hand  that  reaches  to  destroy  in  wanton  crime. 

I  am  Despair  and  Envy,  and  Faith's  enemy; 

I  am  the  grave,  and  Death  and  I  are  of  one  thought ; 

I  am  my  own  destroyer  and  the  why  of  God : 

I  am  unseen,  for  I — the  egoist — am  Self ! 


Heed  not  those  who,  diseased  with  silly  wits, 
Pretend  great  mental  heights,  but  live  them  not. 

The  status  of  some  minds  is  so  supine, 

They  are  mere  avenues  for  what  they  read, 

Which,  passing  off,  leaves  no  impression  there 

Though  they  are  puffed  by  what  they've  not  retained : 

These  are  but  insulators  to  the  wire 

Whose  message  hath  sped  home  to  those  who  feel. 

Thoughts  are  feelings,  and  words  are  hawks  or  doves. 


Hast  thou  a  heart?    Fear  not  to  tell. 

Hast  thou  a  love?  O  blessed  spell! 
Cherish  it  day  and  night, 
Nor  let  indifference  blight ; 
Love  suffers  change. 

66 


Hast  thou  a  rose?    Enjoy  it,  too, 
While  fragrant  with  the  morning  dew. 

Life's  midday  sun  may  burn, 

Rose-leaves  to  ashes  turn; 
All   fair  must  fade. 

If  thou  wouldst  keep  thy  golden  treasure, 
Thou  canst  not  leave  it  at  they  pleasure, 
Lest  some  poor  famished  heart 
Steal  it  from  thee  and  depart : 
'Tis  lost  forever. 


Love  must  have  practice  in  the  art 
Of  holding  steadfastly  the  heart. 
Each  day  to  harmony  the  mind 
Must  give  itself,  if  it  would  find 
The  perfectness  that  we  desire:     . 
To  live  our  love  is  to  aspire. 

She  is  as  joyous  as  a  sun-lit  brook 
Wherein  no  melancholy  shadows  look. 
He  is  of  meditative  turn  of  mind, 
Reverting  constantly  from  grave  to  gay. 

Learned  in  our  duties  each  to  each; 

Wise  in  the  freedom  of  each  mind; 
Ruled  by  a  great  unselfish  love — 

Herein  alone  may  wedlock  bind. 

67 


Conscious  that  Life  forever  Is; 

That  we  but  start  upon  its  way 
Bless'd  to  be  one  with  some  dear  soul ; 

Thankful  for  fellowship  today. 

The  rapt  desire  to  be  at-one  with  Good 

Inspires  us  to  take  unto  us  in  Love ; 

Thus  marriage  is  a  self-absolving  state, 

Wherein  two  souls  become  one  perfect  whole: 

Dualities   are   ever   poised  apart, 

And  cannot  blend  else  all  would  be  at-one. 

Tis  immature  and  restless  youth  that  seeks 
It  knows  not  what,  and  palpitates  to  scale 
The  heights  to  which  none  but  a  god  may  rise; 
That  cannot  wait,  but  plunges  into  Life 
Before  it  knows  itself:    Before  appears 
The  bright  penumbra'd  star  of  True  desire. 

Matter's  the  gate  of   Life;   Love   is    the    way. 
There  is  perfection  somewhere,  if  not  here; 
Be  patient,  Soul!    Mark  not  the  passing  year; 
Time  cannot  compass  Life,  for  Life  is  All. 
Years  are  but  echoes  of  the  upward  call, 
And  each  a  little  nearer  brings  the  day. 

'Twere    better    far    to    live    in    dreams, 

If  waking  is   unreal; 
'Twere  better  we  had  never  loved, 

If  love  no  depth  reveal. 

68 


That  inner  Life  we  fail  to  find, 
Is  where  all  blessings  lie; 

The  lack  of  which  makes  life  amiss, 
And  bids  contentment  die. 


To  live  in  hourly  contact  with  a  soul 

Irradiant  and  warm  with  gentleness ; 

To  feel  yourself  the  center  of  a  mind — 

The  very  impulse  of  a  pulsing  life ; 

To  gaze  upon  it  and  caress  its  bloom, 

The  while  your  being  thrills  thus  to  possess- 

This  is  the  total  of  all  happiness. 


I've  found  my  soul,  dear  heart,  at  last — 
Not  in  the  air,  the  sea,  the  sky, 
Nor  in  the  wind's  sweet  lullaby ; 
Not  in  the  gems  of  Nature's  crown, 
Nor  in  the  hills'  majestic  frown; 
Nor  yet  in  music's  magic  spell, 
Where  inspirations  love  to  dwell. 
'Twas  in  your  love-lit,  beaming  eyes, 
That  I  first  glimpsed  my  paradise : 
Pure  as  the  dew  that  pearls  the  vine, 
Thy  loving  spirit  came  to  mine. 
As   starlings  plucked  from    azure    skies, 
I  found  my  soul  in  your  dear  eyes : 
Since  thou  art  mine,  O  gift  divine, 
Thou  art  my  soul  and  I  am  thine! 

69 


If  you  love  me,  say  you  love 
Keep  me  not  in  doubt. 

You  must  show  it,  so  I  know  it, 
With  a  trust  devout. 

Are  you  lover,  act  the   lover; 

Rest  not  on  the  vow ; 
Daily  live  it,  freely  give  it, 

In  the  golden  now. 


As  Memnon's  harp-sounds  chime  on  morning's  breeze, 

As  carols  the  wild  thrush  sweet  melodies, 

As  babbles  the  gay  brook  upon  its  way, 

So  thrills  with  Her  sweet  voice   the  livelong  day. 

Her  fingers  skill'd  in  music's  touch, 
Draw  from  the  keys  sweet  harmonies; 
While  I,  in  restful  gloaming   listen  rapt. 

Ah,  that  all   might   be  so  divinely  tuned 
That  each  might  charm  the  other  to  the  quick, 
Having  no  impulse,  thought  or  mood  apart, 
Creating  heaven    in   each   other's   breasts — 
Such  is  our  hourly,  daily,  happiness. 

O,  Understanding!  most  exquisite  state, 
Wherein  each  senses  but  sublimest  trust, 

70 


Making  each  mood  a  sphere  of  freedom,  where 
No  jarring  dissonant  rudely  intrudes. 

To  be  exalted  in  a  love  like  this 

Is  to  have  felt  that  we  are  made  for  gods 

Whose  kingdom  lies  within  the  bosom's  sphere. 


How  lightly  flit  the  full  and  joyful  days ; 
Alas !  sweet  peace  doth  seem  to  bring  adown 
Upon  its  tide  unsought,  calamity. 

Upon  this  hearth  of  love  and  pure  content, 

As  darting  from  a  sky  serenely  clear, 

A  malady  of  dread,  resistless  power, 

Casts  blight  upon  its  dearest  life. 

O,  Sacrifice!  why  gather  thou  the  good? 

Why  martyr  unto  death  earth's  needed  best? 

Now  starts  the  mad,  uncertain  search  for  health, 
And  trustfully  she  speeds  to  sunny  climes, 
Braced  by  the  fond  farewells  of  loving  friends, 
But  conscious  of  a  desolated  home, 
Where,  in  whose  vacant  hours  repines  a  heart 
That  in  the  twilight  ponders  o'er  the  stress 
With  grave  forebodings  of  calamity. 

What  means  this  sudden  shift  from  perfectness? 
Why  may  not  life  continue  in  the  True? 

71 


O,  were  but  love  proof  'gainst  the  parting, 
Attracted  thus,  why  must  we  sever? 

Why,  when  once  transfused,  must  we  be  twain? 
Why  not  at-one,  live  on  forever? 


Bravest  hearts  are  those  that  faint  at  parting, 
Or  quail  when  sorrow's  scars  recall ; 

Bravest  lips  are  those  that  meeting  quiver, 
Whose   words,   through   pain,   inaudent   fall. 

Bravest  eyes  that  close  when  vain  their  seeing, 
Whose  tears  have  seared  the  cheek  of  grief; 

Bravest  who  have  stood  upon  the  threshold, 
And  fearful,  knelt  a  moment  brief. 

In  his  strong  arms,  close  pressed  against  his  heart 
Upgath'ring  strength,  he  murmurs  as  they  part : 

"Stronger  than  life  and  more  than  death. 
Our  love  will  brave  these  days  of  strcs- : 

These  sullen  seas  shall  in  a  breath, 
Be  swept  by  gales  of  happiness. 

"Be  brave  for  both  our  sakes,  dear  heart; 

Bear  firmly  through  the  parting's  pain; 
These  tides  that  drift  us  now  apart, 

Will   waft  you  to   my  arms  again." 


72 


It  is  a  woman's  weakness  to  confide 
Her  inmost  thoughts  unto  some  trusted  friend ; 
These  thoughts  that  should  remain  within,  are  oft 
The  avenues  of  perfidy. 

Guard  well  your  romance   lest  unwittingly 
Ye  let  some  meddler  in  to  mar  its  theme. 

Love  letters  have  a  privacy  that  none 
May  pry  into,  except  the  favored  one: 
See  how  he  treasures  her's  from  vulgar  eyes, 
While  she  with  his  straight  to  seclusion  flies, 
Ajid  reads  most  fervently  the  lines  between; 
Knows  what  all  marks  and  underscorings  mean. 


This  trusted  friend  and  counselor  is  by, 
To  whisper  vague  misgivings  in  the  ear 
Of  her  who  is  at  peace  at  heart,  and  craves 
But  to  be  well  restored  unto  her  own. 

Ah !  why  do  we  lack  courage  to  dismiss 
The  voice  of  too  apparent  selfishness? 


Loved  ones  forbear  and  leave  the  ill  with  those 
That  are  at  one  with  them  in  harmony — 
Many  the  ways  devotion  may  be  shown, 
But  force  not  on  the  ill,  aggressive  love. 


73 


Man  is  so  subtle)  attuned  that  all 

Of  his  digressions  are  discordant  acts 

Against  the  perfect  harmony  of  health, 

Conscience,  community,  success  and  life. 

Crime  is  an  act  against  the  laws  of  state, 

While  error  doth  transgress  the  Master's  law. 

Right  is  the  superconsciousness  that  Is, 

The  very  fact  of  Being,  and  the  which, 

Wrong  is  an  act  of  felony  against. 

The  mind  may  not  review  its  own  misdeeds, 

But  Spirit  is  the  uncondoning  judge 

That  cannot  be  appeased  by  argument ; 

And  soon  or  late  the  penalty  must  fall. 

Christly  intuition  is  infallibly 

The  voice  to  which  we  should  lend  earnest  ear. 

Grace  is  too  free  for  us  to  prize  as  yet; 

Our  vanity  prefers  the  costly  dross 

That  bringeth  wanton  suffering. 

May  those   who   set   a   watch   upon    our    ways 
Be  not  inspired  by  their  own  weaknesses : 
The  mighty  temblor  that  upheaves  is  doubt, 
And  selfishness  the  great  internal  blast: 
But  trust  me  and  I  cannot  do  but  right ; 
Set  my  esteem  so  high  I  dare  not  fall. 

Tis  not  the  easy  going  thought  that  cures, 
That  patiently  all  suffering  endures ; 
It  is  the  up-awaking  of  the  will, 
That,  unsubmissive,  driveth  out  the  ill ; 

74 


Reviving  thru  the  meek,  subservient  flesh, 
A  new  impulse  that  mends  the  broken  mesh. 
Nerves  are  the  agents  of  creative  mind, 
Yielding  the  messages  by  thought  designed; 
Will  must  be  vigorously  pressed  to  aid, 
Ere  Truth  responds  and  a  new  life  is  laid. 

By  conquering  the  little  ills  we  gain 

A  mastery  that  stays  the  fell  disease 

That  uncontrolled,  may  speed  untimely  death. 

With  our  new  metaphysics  we  do  cling 

Unto  this  body  to  a  wrong  degree; 

Until  tired  reason,  weary  of  the  strife, 

All  mind,  all  nerve-tensed  to  the  last, 

Lends   death   an  agony   unnatural. 

There  comes  a  time  when  we  at  last  must  say, 

"Thy  will  be  done,"  and  fare  the  Spirit's  way — 

A  time  when  all  resistance  is  but  love  of  life 

Wrongly  identified  with  earthly  things. 

Our  greatest  lessons  are,  to  learn  that  Life 

Is  indestructible  and  Time  is  naught. 

"If  death  release  your  life  He  will  receive  your  soul." 

We  do  not  hear  always  the  cross  of  pain, 

But  finally,  in  our  last  flight  from  earth, 

We  are  distressed  of  body  by  great  ills 

Commensurate  to  the  soul's   withdrawing — 

Such  as  the  pains  that  mark  our  hither  birth : 

Thus,  not  in  any  manner  less  than  He, 

Did  Christ  instruct  we  should  surrend  at  last. 


75 


He  who  can  stand  before  misfortune  and 

With  heedlessness  assign  his  brother's  woe 

To  some  dark  error  of  misguided  faith, 

Hath    grown    to   heartlessness    and    not    to     Christ. 

We  must  remember  that  however  strong, 

The  grave  will  welcome  this  poor  husk  at  last ; 

However  wise,  however  true,  some  time 

We  must  cross  o'er  the  great  dividing  gulf. 

Beware  lest  mental  poise  be  heedlessness! 

Beware  lest  fearlessness  be  heartlessness ! 

Scorn  not  to  shed  the  sympathetic  tear; 

Christ,  best  of  all,  knew  how  its  comfort  warmed. 

Amend  thy  creed  to  fit  the  needs  of  man, 

And  Live,  but  love  the  life  beyond — not  this 

Too  flickering  spark  that  may  expire  betime. 

Anon  the  busy  counselor  in  garb 
Of  lofty  sense  and  purity  of  soul, 
Administers  the  poison  of  distrust. 

From  out  the  glamour  of  illumined  hall, 

She  wanders  to  the  arbor  where  the  fall 

Of  dew  aspersions  glows  on  leaf  and  vine; 

Pure  silver  in  the  moon's  enlambent  shine. 

His  letter  from  her  breast  she  takes  and  reads. 

Garlanded  strings  of  many  tinted  beads, 

Like  rosaries,  bedeck  the  garden  walk. 

Amid  the  bloom  she  treads — a  fair  white  nun ; 

The   while  she   reads,    tears    from    her    lashes    run. 

76 


Thou  priceless  gem 
That   dews  the  feeling  eye; 

No  diadem 

Can  with  thy  brilliance  vie; 
For  hast  thou  not  thru  joy  or  pain, 
Refreshed  me  with  your  heartfull  rain? 

What   opaline 
Emotions  tint  thy  sphere, 

My  crystaline — 
For  art  thou  not  a  tear? 


The  dying  cadence  of  a  cheery  song 

Wafts  gardenward,  voiced  by  the  merry  throng; 

And  breaking  into  laughter,  rudely  jars 

The  deep  seclusion  of  her  thoughts. 

With  face  uplifted  to  the  starry  tide, 

She  murmurs  to  the  winds  that  byward  glide : 

"I  bow  my  head  unto  a  cruel  fate 
That  seems  to  grasp  me  in  its  dread  estate; 
I  bow  my  head,  here  in  the  cool  night  air 
That  fans  my  cheek,  afreight  with  odors  rare: 
I  bow  my  head  unto  my  blooms  and  sigh, 
While  they  look  up  and  trustful,  wonder  why. 
Ah,  gentle  rose,  whose  language  I  have  learned 
Within  my  heart,  and  trustful  love  returned ; 
I  grieve  that  he  with  whom  my  fate  is  cast, 
Hath  more  received  than  he  can  give  at  last." 

77 


(Then  in  her  chamber,  sleepless, 

Afar  into  the  night, 
She  taketh  pen  and  paper, 

And  thus  to  him  doth  write :) 

''Too  soon  you  have  forgotten,  dearest, 
Those  hours  so  full  of  joy,  so  blest; 

When  our  up-star  seem'd  heaven  nearest, 
Our  inmost  longings  all  confessed. 

"Those  love-full  moments  all,  I  treasure. 
Their  light  illumes  my  soul  again ; 

A  waft  of  perfume  born  of  pleasure, 
Sweet  balm  to  ease  the  touch  of  pain. 

"O,  happiness!  art  thou  now  banished? 

O,  heart!  hast  heard  thy  dying  tune? 
O,  dream  of   dreams!   where  art  thou    vanished? 

Hath  sorrow  dim'cl  thy  glow  so  soon  ?" 


As  ling'ring  echoes  of  together  days, 
O'erwing  the  lone  and  reminiscent  now ; 
Throughout  the  weaving  web  of  passing  hours, 
Threads  in  the  gold  of  fleeting  happiness. 
Heart-deep,  there  throbs  an  ever  conscious  fear 
Of  some  calamity. 

A  week  or  more  hath  passed  and  no  response : 
He  wonders  what  hath  pressed  to  stay  her  pen : 

78 


Can  she  be  worse,  or  hath  some  other  lured 
Her  rapt  attention  to  forgetfulness? 

O,  absence!  unconsoling  severance! 

Thou  conjurer  that  fate  accentuates! 

O  worry  magnifying  night;  wear  on, 

That  day  may  lure  from  vain  contending  thoughts ! 

What  sadder  thought  than  that  two  perfect  loves, 
By  temperament   intended   each   for  each, 
Must  be  despoiled  by  some  in-weaving  theme. 
It  is  as  if  life's  truest  aim  were  vain. 

Morrow  dawns!  The  moments  drag!  No  letter  yet! 
Now  doth  mad  worry  bid  calm  patience  flee, 
And  distrust  scents  the  cunning  of  a  crafty  mind, 
To  cheat  his  love  of  its  ascendency: 
So,  pausing  not,  he  casts  success  aside, 
And  flies  unto  her  presence  with  grave  fears. 

O,  measure  of  the  moments'  slothful  span, 
How  wearily  ye  drag  your  constant  space ! 
Ye  hours  that  ebb  reluctantly  away, 
Are  still  unyielding  though  he  homeward  turns. 

His  thoughts  foreview  each  well  remembered  scene, 
Which  seems  to  lend  new  distance  to  their  space ; 
And  what  once  seemed  a  very  little  way, 
Extendeth  in  his  fancy,  league  on  league. 

79 


At  length  the  last  bemarking  lights  are  passed, 
And  greying  spires  creep  into  misty  view ; 
Pale  auras  of  the  flick'ring  village  lamps 
Beam  thru  the  gently  deep'ning  night. 

No  one  to  greet  him ;  how  his  heart  doth  throb ! 

By  unfamiliar  paths  unto  her  home 

He  wends  until  before  her  gate  he  stands. 

The  roses  are  yet  blowing  and  the  vine 

That  over-climbs  her  window  hath  but  turned 

Its  springtide  tints  into  midsummer's  blend : 

O,  mad,  disordered  weeks,  how  ye  have  dragged ! 

Emotion  stirs  his  swelling  breast 

To  sighings  that  are  scarce  repressed, 

As  winding  like  a  silver  thread, 

Her  window  light  weaves  o'er  his  head. 

With  timid  step  he  falters  at  the  door 
And  knocks  with  vacillating  force ; 
As  one  who  knows  not  how  his  visit  falls 
And  hesitates  the  gath'ring  to  intrude. 

Vague   flashings  that  fore-sweep  the  tempest's  path, 
Flare  audent  rumblings  o'er  the  dreary  north  ; 
And  intermittent  rain  drops  moist  his  cheek. 

BO 


Bleak,  ominous,  the  valeward  clouds  advance, 
And  show'ry  columns  mist  the  profiled  hills. 
Upsprings  the  wind,  drawn  into  empty  space; 
The  riven  leaflets  rattle  o'er  the  glebe, 
And  heaven's  caldrons  loose  their  up-pent  flood, 
That  raps  like  sharpnell  on  the  writhing  trees. 
With  blinding  flash  the  storm-sped  caissons  burst, 
Cleaving  the  night  with  loud,  resonant  blast; 
The  streams,  augmented  by  the  wat'ry  flow, 
Wax  boist'rous  in  befoaming  cataracts 
That  chafe  to  fly  their  rage  restraining  course. 


Ye  floods  your  furies  vent  in  gorging  rills! 
Spend,  winds,  your  anger  on  the  crouching  tree! 
Deep  scourge  the  night,  thou  darting  jets  of  flame ! 
It  is  your  privilege,  when   overwrought, 
To  expurgate  your  passions  and  subside: 
But  man,  more  sensitive,  must  bear 
With  mild  beatitude  the  mad'ning  lash, 
And  meekly  offer  up  the  other  cheek. 


All  thru  the  night  he  hears  a  sobbing  voice; 
It  mingles  with  the  chill  of  dripping  rain : 
His  spirit,  crushed  and  drooping,  riseth  not, 
And  self-reproach  doth  settle  o'er  his  heart. 

While  yet  beneath  her  window  lingering, 
His  thoughts  forbode  the  morrow's  throb. 

81 


This  scene  I  fain  would  never  pen ; 
And  yet,  so  much  a  part  of  life  it  is 
That  we  must  hearken  to  the  tragedy. 
He  found  her  very  ill,  with  all  life's  sands 
So  nearly  run,  there  scarce  was  time  to  say 
Those  parting  words,  that  ever  seem  in  vain. 

Here  will  I  lift  the  curtain  for  a  while, 
And  let  you  view  the  scene  in  its  finality. 

She  was  o'erjoyed  to  see  him,  but  distressed 

With  love's  acutest  miseries — the  frets 

That  in  forced  absence  fever  to  despair; 

Augmented  by  that  distrust  born  of  hate, 

Thrust  by  a  heedless  mind  on  her  ill  frame,    [pense, 

This  damned  unrighteous  righteousness  that  some  dis- 

Wherewith  they  paint  the  purest  motive  vile. 

Breeding  a  canker  on  the  best  intent; 

Is  sugared  o'er  with  loftiest  ideals, 

And  so  hedged  round  with  Christianity, 

There's  scarce  a  spot  to  lay  the  remedy. 

O,  Lord !  deliver  us  in  mercy  from 
The  secret  grief  of  unresponsiveness, 
That  doth  oppose  and  stultify  the  soul, 
Thru  peevishness  and  narrow  drawn  desires: 
O,  God !  make  generous  those  we  do  love, 
That  our  too  seldom  joys  bring  not  reproof: 
Leave  not  life's  burdens  for  the  one  to  bear, 
Let  trustful,  patient,  gentleness  avail. 

82 


To  many,  love  is  what  I  will  or  won't; 

Ungenerous  and  all-desiring  self. 

Not  so  with  her :  she  shares  in  all  she  may, 

Tho'  oft  in  giving,  suffers  by  the  gift ; 

Thus  her  sweet  patience  oft  gives  o'er  an  hour, 

The  while  she  knows  'tis  priceless  to  her  own. 

All  tenderness  and  uncomplaining  trust, 
Her  buoyancy  surmounts  these  trying  times, 
Tho'  sickness  gnawing  at  her  precious  life, 
Paints  misery  upon  her  patient  brow. 

Such  bravery  as  hers  transcends  belief — 
A  courage  born  of  perfect  Christian  trust, 
Wherewith  she  scorns  the  sufferings  of  death, 
Soothing  the  agonized  with  words  of  cheer. 
Could  ever  such  a  voice  as  hers  be  mute? 
Could  ever  such  a  thoughtful  mind  decline? 

So  that  I  may  not  sorrow,  her  sweet  face 
Lights  with  a  joy  I'd  give  my  soul  were  real. 

(Kneeling  beside  her,  does  he  realize 

How  soon  must  cease  the  slowly  ebbing  breath? 

How  soon  her  body  be  mere  emptiness, 

All  voided  by  the  Spirit's  severance? 

'Tis  well  we  cannot  grasp  the  after-time, 
But  hope  and  wonder  into  vacancy.) 

83 


Most  worthy  of  all  earthly  themes, 

A  gentle  mother's  love; 
A  love  that  spares  nor  wearies  ere, 

A  gift  all  dross  above. 

All  thru  the  dreary,  wakeful  night ; 

Throughout  the  care-full  day ; 
Thy  hands  have  labored  to  relieve, 

Thy  lips  sweet  words  convey. 

A  day  most  ordinary   whose  routine 
Differs  but  in  the  muffling  of  the  tread, 
The  softly  closing  door,  the  gentle  touch, 
The  careful  setting  down  of  noisy  things ; 
A   thoughtfulness  that  sets  the   day  apart, 
Showing  how  calmly  peaceful  all  might  live 
But  for  the  bluster  of  too  heedless  rush. 

Without,  the  aspect  is  as  usual 
In  summer's  old  routine  of  cloudless  sky: 
Birds,  rustling  leaves  and  murm'ring  streams- 
All  nature  just  its  ordinary  rote 
Somewhat  apart  from  that  deep  hush  within, 
Where  all  thought  centers  on  a  wasting  form, 
That  with  a  face  turned  t'ward  the  silent  hills, 
As  if  her  eyes  had  caught  within  their  shade 
A   glimpse   of  some   celestial   messenger, 
Awaits  our  precious  soul- — the  call  of  Death. 

Surely  the  smile  that  beams  thru  suffering 

84 


Bespeaks  an  uncomplaining  mastery; 

A  saintly  patience  born  of  wondrous  trust. 

He  knows  there  buds  upon  her  lips  a  word 
More  precious  to  his  famished  heart  than  life. 
Beneath  her  impulse  to  speak  out,  there  is 
A  dread  restraint  o'ermastering  desire. 
It  dumbs  her  as  a  muted  instrument 
Whose  richest  melody  has  been  suppressed. 

SHE 
You  know  I  love  you  more  than  life, 

And  that  I've  trusted  you  alway ; 
Your  gen'rous  heart,  your  sacrifice, 

Have  been  my  blessings  day  to  day. 

I  see  in  your  devotion  true 

,  A  love  that  is  as  deep  as  mine ; 
I  want  to  feel  that  you  believe, 
In  spite  of  all,  I  am  all  thine. 

HE 

O,  speak  not  thus,  nor  entertain 

A   single  doubt  or  fear; 
Your  love  hath  proved  an  hundred  fold, 

Waste  not  a  single  tear. 

I  count  no  act  as  sacrifice 
That  may  restore  thy  health; 

I  know  'tis  only  in  your  love, 
My  life  hath  found  its  wealth. 

85 


Whatever  thoughts  have  come  between 

Were  never  cast  by  thee; 
For  our  two  hearts  have  ever  been 

A   perfect   unity. 

SHE 
As  the  birds  of  passage  wing 

From  the  winter's  chill  away 
Unto  pleasant  lands  of  spring, 

So  my  soul  doth  long  to  stray : 
As  the  bird  yearns  for  its  mate, 

There  in  that  eternal  shine 
I  will  build  our  nest  and  wait 

For  your  soul  to  follow  mine. 

HE 

I  know  no  time  beyond  the  now ; 
Here  is  thy  heart's  abiding  place. 

O,  be  thou  dead, 

Then   joy   hath   fled! 
I  ask  no  more  of  Heaven's  grace. 

If  there  be  aught  of  healing  pow'r, 

Then  may  it  strengthen  in  this  trial ; 

Let  it  restore  thy  health  once  more, 
Such  boon  alone  can  reconcile ! 

SHE 
We  must  not  say  farewell, 

Tho'  death  may  hover  nigh ; 
For  those  in  sweet  attune, 

There  shall  be  no  good-bye. 

86 


True  as  a  perfect  chord, 

Completed  and  divine; 
Though  my  soul  journey  on, 

It  will  respond  to  thine. 

***** 

As  tender  music  leaves  a  master's  touch, 
Struck  from  the  subtle  instrument  of  life, 
So  her  blest  Spirit  severs  from  the  clay, 
Faint  as  a  mist  and  quite  invisible; 
And  sensing  freedom  in  the  truer  state, 
Feathers  the  aerial  spheres  of  pure  delight. 

What  glow  was  that  that  lit    the    everlasting    hills, 
Disbursing  shadow  and  eclipsing  daylight's  beam? 
Was  it  the  splendor  of  her  last,  departing  glance? 

What  stirred  the  leaves  aquiv'ring  in  the  quiet  vale, 

As  if  a  sudden  breeze  had  passed? 

Was  it  the  waft  of  her  enquickened  soul? 

Earth  is  a-hush  to  hear  her  gentle  voice. 

A  lark,  inspiring  in  the  upper  calm, 

Doth  hear  and  render  back  to  earth  her  song. 

***** 

To  feel  the  "might  have  been's"  dark  phantom  rise, 
In  face  of  all  your  love  and  sacrifice; 
To  know  the  sweet  perfection  that  you  sought 
Was  ever  marred  by  some  unworthy  thought; 

87 


To  know  that  heart  like  yours  pined  for  the  state 

Which  now  to  know  on  earth,  is  all  too  late : 

Then  in  the  presence  of  unfeeling  death, 

To  know  that  naught  can  ere  return  the  breath 

Unto  the  object  of  your  fondest  care : 

To  think  that  death  perchance  is  what  it  seems — 

With  no  warm  touch  or  spoken  word  to  know— 

This  is  the  very  height  and  depth  of  woe. 

Beside   the   bier,   the   voice   of   hate 
Unsilenced   by  death's  sanctity, 
Utters  rude  words,  as  it  would  rob 
The  final  moment  of  its  peace. 

Sundown  and  the  after  hush 
Of  night  that  follows  soon ; 

Starlight  and  the  silv'ry  blush 
Left  by  the  waning  moon. 

Heart-break     and     the     after     still 
Of  gloom  that  follows  fast; 

Sun-up  and  the  waking  thrill 
Of  hands  that  clasp  at  last. 

There  needs  be  shading  in  the  script 
Whereon  Life's  subtle  pen  hath  tript ; 
Here,   lightly,  with    fantastic   tread, 
There,  heavy  where  the  shadows  thread ; 
So  speeds  it  e'er  from  youth  to  age — 
Then  dots,  whereat  Death  turns  the  page. 

88 


The    church    bells   are    ringing, 
Their  metal  tones  flinging 

O'er  valley  and  hill. 
Soft  voices  are  blending, 
Hush'd  music  is  wending 

With  somnolent  thrill. 

The  odors  of  flowers, 

Fresh  gathered  from  bowers, 

Drift  out  on  the  air. 
All  hearts  there  are  aching, 
And  some  there  are  breaking, 

O'er  her  that  was  fair. 

Toll,  bells,  on  forever; 
Be  joyous,  O  never, 

She  lieth  so  white. 
Weep,  blossoms,  and  wither; 
Your  soul  hath  gone  thither, 

In  eternal  flight. 

Step  softly,  be  heedful  where  ye  tread, 
Lest,  thoughtlessly,  ye  wake  the  restful  dead. 
Ev'ry  moment  gives  to  life  a  birth, 
And  as  oft  recalls  it  back  to  earth; 
Neath  the  blossom  that  adorns  the  ground, 
Heaps  dread  Acheron,  his  oval  mound. 
Thus  is  paved  each  step  of  life  with  dead : 
Step  softly,  be  heedful  where  ye  tread ; 
Lest  some  bosom  ye  awake  to  weep — 
Step  softly,  O  let  the  weary  sleep. 


After  the  deepest  sorrow  of  our  life 

Hath  passed,  it  is  far  easier  to  tread 

The  tranquil  way.     But  when  within 

The  valley  of  the  shadow  and  amid 

The  qualms  of  unrequited  purpose  we 

O'ergaze  denuded  frailties  of  men, 

Unheeding  thru  their  lack  of  power  to  feel, 

Ungrasping  of  their  duties,  for  the  need 

Of  that  fine  sense  of  sympathy, 

Then  deem  we  life's  deluding  span  too  long; 

Then  doth  despair  its  cruel  fangs  inroot, 

And  that  frail  thread  which  binds  us  to  our  task 

We  would  dissever  with  one  freeing  stroke. 

HE 

"Sorrow  hath  laid  its  hand  upon  my  heart, 
And  blight  upon  my  love. 
Is  Heaven's  thirst  for  souls  insatiate, 
That  it  must  pluck  unblown  to  its  estate 
A  bud  that  scarce  had  sipt  life's  early  dew ; 
Whose  new  unfolding  scarce  of  rapture  knew?" 

(  Wending  among  the  graves,  he  mourns. ) 

"Ah,  poor  Narcissus!  how  thy  pallid  glow 
Creeps  mournfully  where  deep'ning  shadows  flow : 
The  tomb  thou  lovest  and  the  cypress'  shade, 
Where  Zephyrus  moans  and  love  and  thee  are  laid. 

"Now  blighting  grief  inflames  anew  desire; 
Breathing  love's  dying  embers  into  fire, 

90 


Whose  heat,  unquenching  in  consuming  wave, 
Doth  lay  my  heart  in  ashes  on  her  grave." 

Under  the  leaves 

O  let  me  rest, 
Where  nought  e'er  grieves, 

No  fears  molest. 
Under  the  shade 

Of  friendly  bough, 
O!  to  be  laid 

Restfully  now. 
O!  let  me  sleep, 

Dead  to  the  woe, 
Never  to  weep, 

Waken  or  know. 
Heart,  be  thou  still ! 

Soul,  urge  no  more! 
Time  will  fulfill 

What  lies  before. 
Under  the  leaves, 

Mocking  my  fears; 
The  future  weaves 

Garlands  of  years. 
In  my  still  bed 

Amid  the  brake, 
Morn's  gentle  tread 

May  not  awake. 
Under  the  leaves, 

Hush  me  to  rest, 
Where  nought  e'er  grieves, 

No  cares  molest. 

91 


Heart,  be  thou  still! 

Soul,   urge  no  more; 
Time  will  fulfill 

What  lies  before. 


"Before  the  sepulcher  of  death  I  stand, 

The  while  the  sun  sinks  o'er  the  western  strand, 

And  darkness  fleeing  from  the  rising  moon, 

Creeps  over  grave  and  leafy-deep  festoon : 

The  livid  marble  lights  up  in  the  chase, 

And  ghostly  semblances  glide  place  to  place: 

The  soughing  wind  from  o'er  the  billow's  surge, 

Breathes  thru  the  cypress  boughs  a  mournful  dirge, 

Is  this  then  death?    O,  strange,  mysterious  blight ! 
Is  this  the  spectre  of  chaotic  night? 
Art  thou  that  robs  all  beauty  of  its  form, 
And  recompenses  with  the  unconsoling  worm? 
O  love,  must  thy  deep  rapture  end  in  this? 
Fades  thus  the  spectra  of  immortal  bliss? 
Earth's  noblest  offering,  her  hope  and  faith, 
End  fest'ring  carrion  or  frighting  wraith? 

O  vacant  hours  of  barren  emptiness ! 
Expressionless  and  unresponsive  now 
Made  vapid  by  absented  hope, 
Despair  depresseth  with  its  weight  of  woe : 
All  firmness  hath  deserted  life's  desire; 
Inconstant  purpose  fixes  thought  on  death ! 

92 


My  trusty  blade,  I  kiss  thy  numbing  edge, 
For  by  thy  swift  unerring  stroke,  I  soon 
Will  join  her  Spirit  or  forever  sleep. 
Thy  sting  I  woo  unto  my  acheful  heart. 
I  seek  an  isle  of  rest.    'Tis  in  a  sea 
Whose  depths  are  fathomless  to  mortal  eye; 
A  sea  whose  tides  ne'er  crimple  into  waves, 
Whose  winds  sigh  not  unto  the  heedless  shore. 
I  seek  a  calm  repose  whose  dreamless  hush 
Wakes  no  remembrance  of  the  poignant  yore ; 
And  from  whose  shadow  wakes  no  songful  note 
Where   night's   impenetrable   fastness   palls, 
And  age  heeds  not  the  onward  tread  of  time. 
Thou  boatman,  bent  and  gray,  my  pilot  be 
Whose  oars  break  not  the  melancholy  still. 
Upon  the  prow  of  thy  frail  craft  I  stand 
And  gaze  into  the  grief  assuaging  tide, 
Where  specter  like,  a  castle  rears  its  walls 
Within  whose  silence  endeth  all  desire." 


93 


PART  IV. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 
PART  IV 

From  his  narrow  window  gazing 
As  bright  day  to  night  is  hazing, 
Scans  the  Sexton  o'er  the  clearing 
For  the  first  bright  star's  appearing 
That  emboldened  by  earth's  shadow, 
Blooms  upon  the  heav'nly  meadow. 
O'er  the  hush  the  bell  tones  linger, 
As  awaft  from  distant  singer. 
Thus  in  solitary  dreaming 
Sits  the  Sexton,  fancies  teeming, 
Till  dark  night  the  day  effacing 
Leads  his  fitful  fancy  tracing 
Paths  amid  the  astral  revels, 
Where  the  Spirit  only,  travels. 

Oft  the  vesper  anthem  sighing, 

To  responsive  mood  replying, 

Wakens  deep  within  a  longing 

To  ascend  where  thoughts  are  thronging 

And  his  vibrant  atoms  tremble 

As  weird  visitants  assemble, 

An  immortal  aggregation 

Crowds  his  rapt  imagination. 

Are  these  moodful  musings  merely? 
Or  doth  vision  view  more  clearly? 

97 


Ev'ry  stone  of  his  rude  dwelling, 
Tho  unsculptered  and  repelling, 
Hath  a  face,  a  name,  a  being, 
Friendly  to  his  inner  seeing: 
More  than  human,  more  consoling, 
To  high  hopes  their  aid  enrolling, 
Deftly  round  him  ever  pressing, 
Lifting  thought  from  themes  distressing. 

Never  with  a  mortal  speaking, 
Scant  repose  from  study  seeking, 
Loneliness  his  heart  acquiring, 
Craves  a  soul  like  his,  aspiring, 
Flesh  and  blood  and  not  ethereal, 
Of  a  substance  more  material. 

What  use  to  sing  if  there  are  none  to  heed? 
What  use  to  write  if  there  are  none  to  read? 

The  bird  sings  sweetest  to  its  listening  mate, 
Whose  mute  approval  doth  full  compensate. 
The  shepherd  pipes  upon  the  mountain  side, 
The  herds  responding,  gather  to  their  guide: 
The  poet  wakes  the  strings  whose  voice  anew 
Seeks  out  the  searching  souls,  who  follow,  too. 
Thus  are  we  led  unto  the  greatest  heights 
By  those  responsive,  whom  our  song  delights. 

Lone  as  yon  summit  'reft  of  friendly  peak; 
Lone  as  an  island  in  a  waste  of  sea, 

98 


His  spirit  yearns  for  some  companionship, 
Which,  finding  not,  grows  weary  of  desire. 


Let  us  walk  with  him  the  garden  of  God, 

Where  earth's  rarest  bloom  awakes  from  the  sod; 

Exhales  on  the  air  the  fragrance  of  thought; 

Inspiring  and  free,  tho  it  must  be  sought. 

Open  the  gates  of  the  mind  to  the  breeze, 

Let  waft  thru  the  soul  the  song  of  the  trees 

As  they  rise  'neath  the  magical  touch  of  His  wand, 

And  point  with  their  spires  t'ward  the  heav'nly  land. 

In  God's  garden  fair  a  fountain  of  glame 

Uplifts  to  the  sky  its  life-giving  flame, 

Whose  peltering  dews  in  the  moonbeams  glow ; 

Let  us  quaff  at  the  fount  and  we  shall  know : 

The  mystic  shall  vanish  and  we  shall  feel 

One  with  the  Perfect,  the  Godly,  the  Real. 

SEXTON 

Of  beaming  nights,  upon  the  sea-washed  strand, 
When  em'rald  waves  broke  into  phosphor'  beams 
And  crystal  atmospheres  drew  stars  anear, 
I've  pondered  how,  in  ages  long  adrift, 
Hipparchus  pioneered  the  unknown  skies : 
Enrolled  a  thousand  fixed,  unchanging  orbs : 
Serius  and  Capella,  first  in  glow, 
And  Vega,  unsurpassed  in  brilliancy. 
Now  these  same  jewels  cast  their  glows  on  us 
In  undiminished  flame  that  held  his  gaze. 

99 


Why  are  these  eyes  less  subtle  than  the  lens, 

On  which  these  stellar  images  impress 

Tlicir  faintest  spark? 

The  spectraglows  of  star-creating  dust 

Reveal  therein  their  changing  binaries. 

We  dare  not  venture  to  enumerate 

How  vastly  multiple  these  rayless  spheres: 

The  cosmic  dust  of  unillumined  worlds 

Strives  with  the  flames  of  brightly  beaming  stars 

And  modifies  the  brilliancy  of  day, 

Lending  a  softness  to  the  glow  of  night. 

Our  central  world  companions  with  the  sun, 
While  round  us  like  bejeweled  girldle  swings 
The  clusters  of  the  distant  milky-way. 
The  blending  of  the  spheral  dust  with  ours 
Compounds  the  great  elixir  we  inhale, 
Whose  light  adjusted  to  our  growing  needs 
Keeps  live  the  spark  that  our  Creator  struck. 
To  know  the  earth  and  its  component  parts 
Is  to  have  view'd  the  secrets  of  all  space. 

Life  in  its  infinite  variety 
Attains  perfection  round  the  bode  of  man. 
Where  he  cannot  exist,  the  minimum 
Of  life  strives  with  the  thorn  and  shifting  sand. 
Why  is  not  man  the  one  idea  of  All? 
He  holds  the  centre  of  the  stage  of  Life, 
The  while  the  universe  doth  focus  him. 

100 


Add  hydrogen  to  alkali,  and  swift, 

Long  dormant  life  will  blossom  and  bear  fruit — 

Add  purpose  to  our  active  principle 

And  we've  a  demi-god  in  mortal  mind. 

This  mighty  Spirit  holds  within  its  palm 

Ais  'twere  a  grain  of  sand,  this  little  world, 

That  turning  round  from  light  to  shade,  evolves 

The  days  and  nights  of  our  terrestrial  span. 

Aspiring  still,  our  Spirit  yet  shall  wear 

In  some  far  time,  a  sky  of  glowing  worlds 

To  grace  the  garments  of  its  memory. 

The  batteries  of  science,  thoughtful  trained, 

Are  narrowing  the  boundaries  of  space. 

A  universe  seems  center'd  round  our  globe, 

Which  even  to  its  far,  remotest  spark, 

Conduces  to  the  essence  of  our  Life. 

We  drink  the  starlight  as  the  fronding  leaf; 

The  moon  uplifts  our  thought  o'er  shallow  dunes; 

While  atmospheric  moistures  fresh  the  soul. 

Inwall'd  by  vast,  unnumbered  stars  we  swing 

Our  certain  orb,  within  whose  circuit  weaves 

The  texture  of  immortal  Life. 

When  soul  is  ready  for  the  Spirit's  call 
Our  colors  glomerate  into  pure  light. 
This  is  the  total  of  all  tints  in  one ; 
The  sun  itself,  and  not  its  varied  gleams. 
Sound  is  the  subtle  voice  of  living  light ; 

101 


The  vowel  and  the  consonant  of  Truth : 
Time  is  the  measure  of  its  aspirate. 

If  darkness  is  a  veil  and  All  is  Light, 

And  Light  transfuses  all  material, 

Then  in  the  final  shutting  out  of  day 

Would  it  be  strange  if  Light  illumined  Death? 

The  aqueous  compound  of  this  mortal  part 

Doth  scarce  conceal  its  inner  mysteries: 

-oq"'ing  and  the  stopping  of  whose  parts 
Doth  show  a  purpose  cannot  be  denied. 
If  Light  itself  be  brighter  than  mere  day, 
Then  Life  transcends  the  radiance  of  suns ; 
And  should  be  visible  but  for  the  nerves 
That  fog  the  waters  of  this  mortal  eye. 
Reasoning  from  and  to  particular 
We  do  infer  that  such  will  be  the  fact : 
But  spite  of  reasoning  the  fact  was  there. 
We  seem  to  grasp  the  rudiments  with  ease, 
Tho  chaos  is  as  dense  to  thought  as  mass. 
When  we  think  star,  doth  reason  grasp  a  world? 
When  we  feel  Love,  doth  mind  encompass  Soul? 
When  we  find  Soul,  know  we  the  Absolute? 
When  we  view  Life,  have  we  o'ermastered  Time? 

Light  being  Life,  pervades  the  atmosphere 
As  air  pervades  the  ocean's  rayless  deeps 
And  entering  between  all  particles, 
Becomes  the  circulation  of  high  space. 
What  of  that  spectra  whose  unnumbered  tints 

102 


Affect  the  blossom  to  its  certain  hue? 
What  of  the  diamond  and  its  nighted  dream? 
Hath  it  escaped  the  sun's  coronal  glints? 
Thus  we  reflect  according  to  our  thought, 
The  all-pervading  color  of  our  mood, 
Distempered  or  inspiring  as  we  think. 

When  Time  slips  from  its   moorings  the  fleet  year 

The  past  is  incidental  to  the  star 

That  oversweeps  the  firmamental  space, 

But  future  is  the  reason  of  its  flash. 

Subjective  gaze  rewards  the  beautiful, 

Which  comtemplation  compensates  the  eye. 

By  graduating  vistas,  the  sublime 

Bursts  by  degrees  upon  the  searching  soul. 

This  viewless,  object-barren  space  invites, 

Imaginative  voices  wake  the  hush, 

And  contemplative  beauty  grace  the  void. 

Idea  is  the  beautifying  touch 

That  lends  to  art  the  mystery  of  Life. 

O  mind !    Of  all  God's  works  the  most  sublime, 

That  thru  these  few  congealing  ounces  we 

Can  people  emptiness  and  sweep  the  skies, 

Subject  the  unseen  elements  to  Will, 

But  cannot  grasp  the  mystery  of  Life. 

That  spark,  infinitesimal,  escapes 

The  subtle  reasonings  of  all  our  wit. 

We,  being  Life,  are  prone  to  gaze  away. 

103 


Searching  the  distance  for  what  lies  within. 

The  heart  vibrates  upon  that  self-same  law 

That  speeds  the  planets  round  their  certain  course. 

The  clouds  wing  lightly  as  the  butterfly, 

Pressing  alike  their  kisses  on  the  rose. 

The  ocean  and  the  wind  are  kindred,  too, 

As  sound  and  stillness  are  alike  at-one. 

Void  and  Fulfillment  do  alike  conjoin, 

One  law  and  principle  for  All — in  All. 

Shall  we,  that  grasp  the  idea  of  the  plan, 

Be  lesser  than  the  plan  we  contemplate? 

Thought  gathers  to  itself  the  scattered  dust. 

Shaping  the  being  to  its  central  plan : 

Vibrating  lesser,  stronger,  as  the  mind 

Quickens  or  retards  its  varied  mood. 

Hath  Time  ceased  with  the  pendulum's  last  swing? 

No  more  hath  person  ceased  with  our  last  breath ! 


Weaving  the  mesh  of  All-Eternal-Time, 
Therein  did  God  place  his  fulfilling  thought, 
That  we  might  write  the  story  of  the  hour. 


I  am  a  separable  atom  of 
The  vast  and  mighty  whole : 

I  am  the  changeless  Law 
That,  will  or  nil, 
Quickeneth  the  soul. 

104 


I  am  the  past  and  fore  of  memory, 

An  ever-learning  orb : 
Of  never-changing  form — an  entity 

That  death  cannot  absorb. 


The  ocean  is  but  heavy  atmosphere, 
Too  humid  to  maintain  in  lofty  space: 
And  falling  to  earth's  deep,  enhollow'd  vales, 
Heaves  its  wide  bosom  to  the  spheral  glows. 
The  flinty  earth,  the  sediment  of  stars, 
Knchains  within  its  keep  the  fluent  tides 
That  ever  battle  in  their  captive  sinks: 
Lifting  impending  mists  toward  the  skies. 

Of  that  internal  something  that  effects 

To  life  this  dull  material : 

May  it  not  be  of  our  conformity? 

The  hand  within  the  glove? 

The  I,  the  person,  individual? 

We  shape  the  battery  to  charge  the  wire — 

What  gives  the  bioplast  its  pattern  thought? 

Doth  it  contain  all  wisdom  in  itself? 

'Tis  answered  from  the  great  invisible: 

This  form  we  lose  not  in  the  ash  of  death — 

The  pattern  was  before  the  bioplast. 

As  lum'nous  astrals  take  the  shape  of  man 

And  wander  from  the  confines  of  the  flesh, 

So,  strengthened  by  the  process  of  this  death, 

Steps  forth  the  weaver  from  his  wondrous  web : 

105 


Its  person,  form,  identity,  the  I ; 

Endowed  with  everlasting  Life,  by  Him, 

The  Maker,  All-Intelligent,  the  Sense. 

O,  tell  me  not  that  I  shall  be  a  part 

Of  some  great  scheme,  some  all-creating  whole, 

Bereft  of  person,  form  and  memory: 

The  offspring  of  that  myth,  Bathybius. 

A  soul  congealed  with  countless  other  souls — 

A  particle  within  a  great  chaotic  mass: 

Inanimate,  after  creative  Will 

Hath  shown  the  capabilities  of  Good? 

Insensate,  after  pain  and  ecstasy? 

After  the  yearning,  loving,  learning? 

After  the  effort  to  rise  from  the  mass 

And  stand  apart  in  all  progressive  Truth 

Whose  very  application  Life  diversifies. 

Tell  me  that  I  forever  shall  be  I — 

That  you  that  love  me  shall  forever  Be — 

Not  vastly  different  from  this  fair  form, 

But  capable  of  further  thought  and  love; 

Personal,  individual  and  free. 

A  thing  that  an  unselfish  God  may  love: 

His  handiwork,  impersonal,  apart; 

A  something  to  reward  the  Builders'  zeal. 

If  in  our  weave  we're  taught  to  will  to  live — 
To  hope  and  to  aspire  beyond  this  death. 
Then  trust  the  bioplast  that  held  the  hope; 
Made  it  to  bloom  in  our  effulgent  year. 
As  we  were  built  to  hold  that  blessed  wish 

106 


So  we  shall  find  within,  immortal  Life. 
This  seed  contains  within  its  subtle  sphere 
The  unity  of  consciousness  complete. 

The  Spirits'  hearing  grasps  a  finer  thread 
Than  ever  hath  been  spun  in  music's  web. 
Yon  silence  yields  us  not  the  mighty  din 
Of  clashing  particles,  commingled  with 
The  whirr  of  coursing  stars,  the  seethe  of  suns. 

Could  I  but  sail 

The  meteoric  streams  around  the  sun, 
Where  sweeps  the  flotsam  of  the  comet's  wreck ; 
I'd  pause  anon,  mid  isles  of  clustering  stars, 
To  light  my  torch  on  some  new  flaming  node 
Where  merge  from  bright  corona's,  jewels  rare: 
Then  with  my  spark  I'd  turn  to  nighted  earth 
And  kindle  a  new  hope  in  ev'ry  breast. 

'Tis  giv'n  the  ear  to  hear  the  great  unseen, 
In  music's  earthward  reaching  harmonies. 
'Tis  giv'n  the  mind  to  know  in  subtle  thought 
The  soul  to  feel  beyond  all  questioning. 
Sight  is  the  only  sense  that  is  deceived, 
And  that  because  we  will  see  tangibles. 

Have  I  not  heard  the  world's  sublimest  note, 

That  faded  all  mere  music  into  chime : 

That  lifting  on  a  breath  so  poised  in  thought, 

107 


It  pressed  against  the  circling  rim  of  space 
As  it  would  sunder  heav'n  with  swelling  tone 
It  was  a  simple    tune,  but  inly  heard. 

SEXTON 

Musing  of  a  twilight  golden 
Over  parchments  sere  and  olden; 
Glides  a  sudden  glow  before  me — 
As  a  specter  hov'ring  o'er  me. 
Startling  tho  the  apparition — 
Unperturbed  my  intuition. 
Now  assuming  form  of  human, 
Wavereth  a  fair  young  woman; 
Draped  in  robes  of  airy  lightness, 
Of  a  phosphorescent  brightness. 
My  heart  paused — the  phantom  moving, 
By  a  look  my  fear  reproving, 
Parts  her  lips  as  if  to  utter 
Words  that  into  silence  flutter 
Fainter  than  a  bloom's  unfolding — 
That  with  morn'  commune  is  holding. 
Her  deep  eyes  a  wish  conveying 
Bid  my  sense  their  will  obeying, 
Till  a  coldness  quivers  o'er  me 
And  the  shade  glides  on  before  me: 
Beckons  with  her  hands — I  follow 
Down  the  cloistered  by-way  hollow : 
On  among  the  grave-stones  wending, 
Led  o'er  paths  'neath  cypress  bending 
Where  the  circling  tomb-bat  sweepeth, 

108 


And  the  gnawing  legion  creepeth. 

Now  before  a  tomb,  the  spirit 

Pauses.    Beckons  me  anear  it. 

And  obeying  her  wild  gesture, 

I  peer  in  the  dark  investure. 

From  the  shadows'  faint  revealing, 

I  can  trace  a  figure  kneeling, 

With  great  sobs  whose  form  is  shaking, 

As  a  heart  from  grief  were  breaking. 

YOUTH 

When  this  last  dreamless  night  is  done, 
Your  face  shall  be  my  rising  sun : 
Your  smile  will  gently  waft  away 
The  mists  that  linger  over  day. 
The  haven  of  my  heart,  your  breast, 
Shall  fold  me  to  eternal  rest : 
Your  eyes  will  beam  refreshing  dew, 
To  ease  my  fervent,  waking  view, 
Lest  I  expire  to  feel  the  glow 
Of  your  warm  lips  and  perish  so. 
And  should  this  poignant  ache  of  heart 
Revive  with  me  and  not  depart, 
I'll  pray  to  pass  again  to  sleep, 
Calm,  impenetrable  and  deep ! 

SEXTON 

(I  behold,  as  lightning  flashing, 
Gleam  of  steel  that  from  him  dashing, 
Speeds  the  murd'rous  blade  from  harming.) 

109 


YOUTH 

Unwelcomed!    Who  disturbs  my  grief? 

SEXTON 

A  brother  in  adversity ! 

Come  !    Thy  vain  purpose  cease  ! 

Wouldst  thou  thy  Captain  disobey? 

Desert  thy  post  amid  the  frey? 

Ah,  not  so  base  a  coward  thou, 

Unto  adversity  to  bow ! 

Come  !    Strike  unto  thy  trouble's  heart ; 

Command  the  threat'ning  clouds  depart! 

Thrust  back  the  lightning  with  the  clash 

Of  thine  own  steel — give  flash  for  flash ! 

Be  not  dove-like  and  meekly  bear 

Thy  burdens  with  a  downcast  air ; 

But  like  the  eagle,  soar  on  high, 

Where  no  debasement  cometh  nigh ! 

Art  scorned?     Unpitied?     What  of  it? 

If  love  deny  and  fortune  fail ; 

If  all  known  woes  thy  heart  assail; 

Seek  not  in  any  human  face, 

For  pity's  soft,  consoling  grace, 

But  take  a  firmer  hold  on  life, 

Stand  boldly  to  besetting  strife 

And  tho  thy  woes  like  rivers  flow, 

Receive  upon  thy  breast  the  blow — 

So  be  it,  if  Chance  wills  it  so ! 


110 


YOUTH 

If  Fate  is  privileged  to  wring  my  heart — 
Then  have  I  not  the  right  to  cry  enough 
And  stem  my  woes  by  whatsoever  means  I  will? 

SEXTON 

Why  dash  thyself  against  unfeeling  stone? 
Think  you  to  wake  a  sense  where  there  is  none? 
If  those  that  hurt  thee  cannot  sense  their  wrong, 
How  can  retaliation  change  or  words  affect? 
'Tis  better  to  combat  than  meekly  bear; 
Tho  both  are  wrong. 

There  is  a  poise  that  sets  all  ill  at  naught. 
Leave  unto  Time  the  labors  of  its  sphere : 
'Twill  grind  the  adamant  to  dust  at  last. 

YOUTH 

Alas,  how  very  calm  her  rest; 
No  heart-throb  wakes  that  silent  breast, 
Whose  ev'ry  pulse  was  wont  to  meet 
Mine  own,  and  blend  into  its  beat. 
From  those  dear  lips  I  hear  no  sigh, 
Their  coldness  wakens  no  reply — 
O  God !  where  hath  escaped  the  breath 
From  this  enmarbled  hush  of  death? 

SEXTON 
Come! 

YOUTH 

How  e'er  survive  the  awful  shock 
That  o'er  my  being  seems  to  rock; 

111 


Lending  to  grief  a  mad'ning  pow'r, 

Seeing  no  hope  beyond  the  hour. 

Pain-waking  words  that  burn  and  sear 

Do  ring  forever  in  my  ear — 

Till  hushing  silence  groans  with  hate, 

And  ev'ry  whisper  is  a  blade 

That  cuts  and  prods  my  anguished  heart, 

Till  death  alone  can  ease  the  smart. 

SEXTON 

Time  wields  a  viewless  poignard,  and  its  thrust 
Is  sure.     But  wait,  too  soon  it  will  strike  home. 
Thou'rt  unprepared.    Thy  Spirit  must  advance: 
How  far,  we  may  not  know ;  therefore,  forbear ! 

YOUTH 

To  live  for  years  with  one  you  idolized, 
And  all  the  while  your  hands  dared  scarcely  touch 
Without  the  pique  of  an  intruding  love 
That  poised  its  will  against- devotion's  own: 
What  is  more  wearing  to  an  ardent  heart? 
Is  there  a  torture  more  refined  in  art? 

Dearest : 

Could  you,  from  your  new  bode  look  down  and  see 
These  after  hours  of  suffering  alone; 
Sorrowing  far  beyond  the  loss  of  you — 
Your  heart  could  not  partake  of  heav'nly  joys, 
You  would  so  grieve  to  see  my  sore  distress. 
Could  you  but  know  how  shattered  my  ideals, 
How  vain  the  dreams  that  were  our  loveland's  own : 

112 


How  soon,  when  your  dear  breath  had  left  your  corse, 
The  world's  unfeeling  aspect  came  to  view. 
Ah!  could  you  know  this  heart  that  worshiped  you 
Was  made  to  faint  in  deeper  agonies  than  death, 
You  could  not  rest  for  praying  I  might  come, 
And  be  consoled  within  your  loving  arms. 

SEXTON 

Come !  'tis  sympathy  thou  need'st ! 
'Tis  more  the  attitude  of  selfish  minds, 
Than  death's  sad  severance,  that  prompts  thy  blade. 
Come  !     Learn  of  Life ! 

YOUTH 
Speak  thou  of  Life?    Then  gaze  on  this  sweet  wreck! 

SEXTON 

If  she  be  dead,  what  comes  then  of  our  Faith? 
Where  is  the  hope  that  nourisheth,  sustains? 
Hath  chaos  blighted  ev'ry  Christian  trust? 
What  have  I  seen  with  these  unfailing  eyes? 
What  led  me  hither?     Was  it  mere  chance? 
It  grieves  me  to  behold  so  fair  a  mind 
O'ergiven  to  the  folly  of  despair. 

YOUTH 

Death  surely  unrewards  a  life  like  hers. 
If  memory  survive,  why  not  the  soul? 
Yet,  how  can  I  survive  the  loneliness? 
My  heart  upyearns,  my  hands  outreach  in  space 
Whose  emptiness  accentuates  my  grief. 

113 


SEXTON 

In  sorrow's  hour  we  lean  on  kindliness 
As  'twere  a  crutch  to  stay  our  limping  i^ricf; 
Yet  void  of  healing  is  all  mortal  love : 
Our  truest  consolation  lies  within, 
Where  bravely  and  with  steadfast  faith 
We  rise  above  the  world's  calamities. 
Come  with  me,  heart-weary  friend, 
No  longer  with  vain  grief  contend : 
Come !     I  greet  thee  as  a  brother, 
Leave  this  life,  begin  another: 
Here  in  the  Sexton's  tranquil  walls 
No  peace  disturbing  woe  recalls: 
Come !  thou  art  captive  to  thy  grief, 
Repose  will  bring  thee  sweet  relief. 

YOUTH 
I  care  not  for  love's  words  so  lightly  spoken, 

Nor  care  I  for  the  language  of  the  rose ; 
Close  to  my  breast,  I  need  no  other  token, 

Her  presence  there  is  all  my  wooing  knows. 

Within  her  arms,  I  need  no  other  dwelling; 

Her  azure  eyes  are  as  the  sky  to  me : 
Consuming  love  defies  the  simple  telling, 

But  bursting  forth  engulfs  us  in  its  sea. 

I'd  not  complain,  tho  grief  my  heart  assailing, 
Nor  yet  despair  while  hcr's  beat  close  to  mine 

Bereft  of  her,  all  else  is  unavailing, 
A  mighty  void  is  left  and  I  repine. 

114 


I  hear  no  music,  for  the  lute  is  broken ; 

Life's  wondrous  song  has  lost  its  charm  for  me 
My  steadfast  love  disdains  all  other  token ; 

Then  in  her  arms,  O  let  me  buried  be ! 

SEXTON 

So  brief  the  hour  we  here  remain, 
All  bitter  mourning  is  in  vain : 
Short  time  and  you  will  calmly  choose 
The  balm  that  healeth  ev'ry  bruise; 
Engrave  upon  thy  mem'ry's  shield, 
"To  thy  remembrance  thus  I  yield." 
Here  change  thy  song  to  that  of  hope — 
Firm  grasp  the  future's  broad'ning  scope; 
For  hark !  my  listening  senses  hear 
The  hour  of  passing  cometh  near : 
Soon  intersticing  themes  converge, 
And  sweeps  adagio  to  dirge : 
Soon  breaks  our  fragile  winding  thread — 
How  briefly  we  survive  the  dead ! 

(As  up  the  moonlit  walk  we  wander, 
O'er  the  buried  past  I  ponder : 
So  like  mine  his  heart's  upbreaking; 
So  like  mine  this  sudden  waking. 

Anon  I  turn  his  thoughts  to  giving 
All  his  days  to  holy  living. 

Pausing  a  moment  where  the  sleeping  flowers 
Bathe  the  night  in  fragrant  showers. 

115 


Bright  spangles  from  the  moon  caress 
The  undulating  valley's  breast, 
And  on  his  throbbing  temples  press 
The  slumb'rous  balm  of  tranquil  rest. 

Soft  pillow'd  on  my  humble  bed, 
I  gently  lay  his  troubled  head; 
And  hush  him  as  a  mother  might 
A  child  whose  care  was  her  delight : 
Snuff  the  taper  dimly  burning; 
To  the  page  I'd  left,  returning; 
Read — I  know  not  what,  for  thinking 
Of  the  strange  night,  'till  a-blinking, 
Slumber  throws  its  mantle  o'er  me 
And  the  scene  dissolves  before  me. 

When  the  first  bright  golden  lances 

Burst  from  morning's  waking  glances : 

When  the  mountain  trenches,  wooded, 

Wake  from  slumber,  misty  hooded ; 

Dream  laden,  silent  ships  of  spray, 

Spread  their  white  wings  and  sail  away, 

Over  a  sea  of  balmy  air, 

Kissed  by  Orient's  ruddy  glare. 

Then  the  wild  bird's  tuneful  numbers 

Rouse  us  from  belated  slumbers. 

There  refreshed  by  waters  cooling, 

Waits  my  charge  his  first  deep  schooling. 

In  the  grace  of  soul  surrender; 

That  first  glimpse  of  Heaven's  splendor. 

116 


Still  his  baffled  blade  repenting; 
Still  his  heart's  deep  loss  lamenting.) 

YOUTH 

Thou  dark  unfriendly  hour  that  dulled 
The  blade  that  should  the  blight  have  culled: 
That  closed  death's  portal  full  on  me, 
Leaving  the  sting  of  misery. 

SEXTON 

Hush !  thy  grief  unmans  thee  wholly : 
Have  patience,  Life's  gift  is  holy. 

YOUTH 

What  now  remains  to  charm  my  sight, 
Since  day  has  passed  to  dreamless  night? 
The  die  is  cast,  why  then  contend? 
Since  love  hath  fled,  let  my  life  end. 

SEXTON 

Retaliation  and  revenge  react 
Upon  us  for  our  heedless  deeds : 
Our  structure  may  collapse  upon  us  if 
One  single  stone  be  moved  from  its  set  place. 
The  individual  and  act  are  part 
Of  our  tuition  and  our  seasoning: 
Mere  incidentals  to  the  massive  whole. 
Every  prod  but  teaches  us  to  feel — 
And  ev'ry  sorrow  wakes  a  deeper  joy ; 
The  house  of  mourning  is  the  twilight  dusk 
That  glooms  our  vision  ere  the  break  of  day. 

117 


YOUTH 

She  will  not  vanish  from  e'er-present  grief, 
Thus  do  I  seek  to  live,  while  sorrows  kill. 

SEXTON 

Far  better  can  she  minister  to  thee 
From  her  unseen  abode  in  thoughtful  space, 
Than  when  disturbed  by  earth's  discordant  themes 
Which  interrupt  and  mar  love's  melody. 
Love,  as  a  means  to  reach  the  ultimate 
Hath  more  to  overcome  than  other  ways, 
Because  true  love  is  feeling's  deepest  sense, 
And  into  this  all  ways  converge  at  last. 
Cease  thou  to  bode  the  murd'rous  thought, 
All  destroying,  availing  naught : 
A  grain  of  hate  dropt  in  the  heart, 
And  brooded  o'er,  receives  a  start 
That  rushing,  gathers  in  its  rage 
The  poise  and  wisdom  of  our  age: 
Still  urging,  mild  resistance  gives, 
And  murder,  the  whole  thought,  now  lives. 
Like  lightning's  flash  our  hand  hath  slain — 
The  thunder  wakes  to  self  again ! 

This  life  must  pace  its  destined  course, 
'Tis  not  a  thing  that  yields  to  force. 
Concealed  within  that  we  call  death, 
A  life  more  vital  than  mere  breath; 
A  new  development  of  soul, 
Awaits  fulfillment  of  its  goal. 

118 


Each  hour  doth  throb  with  new  increase 

Upon  the  world,  Life  cannot  cease. 

The  thread  of  high  perfection  winds 

To  the  infinite,  where  it  binds. 

Great  truths  spring  from  a  source  devout ; 

Who  thinks  within,  sheds  light  without. 

Self-study  is  the  bubbling  source 

Of  inspiration's  subtle  force : 

He  who  knows  his  nature  surely 

Holds  success  as  his  securely. 

As  our  thoughts  trend,  so  shall  our  progress  be — 

All  unattuned,  or  perfect  harmony. 

We  are  not  better  than  the  swine, 

'Till  thought  and  impulse  make  divine. 

Whither  wendeth,  in  its  swift  flight, 
Yon  star  that  sweeps  across  the  night? 
Where  flow  the  sands  that  press  the  sea; 
Have  they  no  certain  destiny? 
Does  seed  drop  ere  the  fruit  is  grown? 

YOUTH 

This  newer  thought  of  thine  is  queer, 
And  yet,  some  element  doth  cheer 
To  sweet  attunement,  all  my  pain ; 
And  brings  me  up  to  pitch  again 
Wherein  some  thought  anew  elates, 
The  hopelessness  obliterates. 
Speak  on!     I  fain  would  hear  thy  song; 
Beneath  its  spell  my  heart  grows  strong. 

119 


SEXTON 

'Tis  variance  of  will  makes  man  to  shift; 
His  reason  marks  no  course,  doth  blindly  drift. 
There  is  one  pilot  that  will  light  him  home, 
A  safe  asylum,  whence  he  need  not  roam : 
'Tis  concentration  on  some  lofty  height 
Of  thought,  that  shall  endow  enternal  might : 
Objectified  with  that  he  emulates, 
Becomes  a  part  of  That  which  All  creates. 
The  world  grows  small  as  mind  expands 
And  yearnings  reach  t'ward  other  lands. 

YOUTH 

I'll  close  the  past  as  one  lays  down  a  book 
Whose  ev'ry  page  revives  but  poignant  pain: 
Whose  final  chapter  hath  the  curtain  rung 
On  Life's  sublimest  tragedy. 
Now  do  I  start  another  theme, 
Which,  let  us  hope,  may  lead  in  pleasant  ways: 
For,  what  new  sorrow  may  outweigh  the  old? 
'Tis  left  the  future  to  reveal  but  joy — 
The  unwrit  story  of  requited  love. 

SEXTON 

We  may  not  venture  how  the  play  may  end; 
Nor  can  we  estimate  its  tragedy : 
There  is  no  limit  to  experience — 
No  depth  to  which  the  feelings  may  not  go: 
There's  no  degree,  no  mark,  that  we  may  pass, 
And  passing  say:     "There's  nothing  more  to  come." 
But  we  can  learn  in  Patience  and  in  Trust. 

120 


YOUTH 

This  play  and  jest  doth  make  a  mockery  of  grief. 
I've  listened  to  the  voice  that  simulated  woe,  [art — 
I've  laughed  and  wept,  swayed  by  the  actor's  subtle 
Led  to  forget  the  glamour  of  the  mimic  stage: 
But  never  until  now  knve  I  true  feeling  known — 
Never  till  loss  and  sorrow  struck  the  poignard  home. 

SEXTON 

I,  too,  have  shun'd  the  river's  tempting  brink, 
The  cliff's  high  leap — the  spirit-urging  sea, 
Or  staid  my  hand  as  it  would  grasp  a  blade. 
When  mad'ning  trouble  seems  unbearable 
An  impulse  irresistible  o'erwhelms. 
'Tis  but  the  impress  of  the  gloomy  hour : 
Trust  thou  the  morrow  and  abide  its  mete. 

YOUTH 

How  may  I  gain  the  Spirit  you  require? 
How  wake  within  the  impulse  to  aspire? 

SEXTON 
Listen  in  the  .depths  of  silence : 

Listen  for  Life's  monotone; 
Turn  the  sight  and  hearing  inward, 

Leave  the  tumult,  think  alone. 

Deep  within,  rich  truths  are  springing, 
O!  but  heed  their  impulse  strong; 

Life's  true  voice  is  ever  ringing, 
And  its  utterance — a  song. 

121 


YOUTH 

Could  I,  for  instance,  ever  hope  to  be 
At-one  on  earth  with  True  Divinity? 

SEXTON 
The  sweetest  song  that  ever  was  pen'd 

Awaits  on  the  border  land 
The  voice  of  a  great  upyearning  soul 

The  touch  of  a  master  hand. 

O!  where  is  the  land?    How  runs  the  tune? 

And  what  does  its  theme  impart? 
The  tune  is  the  sigh  of  a  soul's  desire; 

The  theme  is  a  human  heart. 

YOUTH 

O,  master,  I  would  follow  on, 
But  in  the  maze  am  lost! 

SEXTON 

When  Spirit  in  the  aspect  of  new  hope 
Descends  upon  a  mortal's  troubled  breast, 
That  Heav'nly  messenger,  angelic,  brings 
The  sweet  assurance  of  a  world  of  peace. 
Else  why  the  thrill  in  Life's  departing  hour? 
Why  raptured  looks  from  eyes  deep  sunk  with  ill? 
Pin  not  your  Faith  on  earth's  deceptive  glows; 
The  True-Light  burns  beyond  our  little  day! 
Spirit  is  like  a  deeply  shadow'd  pool, 
Wherein  betimes  the  sun's  bright  Soul  reflects: 

122 


Thus  we  must  turn  from  night  and  glance  within, 

If  we  would  see  and  sense  Almighty  Love. 

Love  is  heaven's  connecting  link 

And  leads  us  close  unto  the  brink 

Wherein  eternity  doth  spread 

Its  ocean  past  the  cliffs  of  dread : 

Where,  standing  on  its  narrow  rim, 

We  gaze  into  the  vortex  dim : 

Appall'd  at  whose  great  sea  of  space — 

Wherein  no  certain  harbors  grace, 

Save  those  of  faith,  implanted  deep, 

Whose  might  grasps  all  within  its  keep. 

Faith  holds  the  world  within  its  orb, 

While  wishes  our  deep  aims  absorb: 

Desire  unmet  were  hell  indeed; 

But  hope  upsprouteth  like  the  seed: 

Upheld  with  promise  o'er  the  night, 

We  slumber,  faithful  of  the  light. 

What  see  these  eyes,  bedim'd  with  age, 

Upon  life's  ever-turning  page? 

Naught!  naught  beyond  environment: 

A!  very  meager  testament — 

Compared  to  that  seen  from  within, 

Our  narrow  Teachings  just  begin. 

I  need  no  painted  dial  to  show, 

But  read  my  hour  in  nature's  flow: 

The  anchor's  up ! 
My  barque  is  ready  for  the  breeze 
To  waft  it  over  sunset  seas : 

123 


I  need  no  pilot's  hand  to  guide 
Me  o'er  the  myst'ries  of  the  tide : 
For  my  full  years  have  brought  me  where 
I  see  the  home-lights  over  there — 
Beyond  the  west. 

Death,  being  consistent  with  my  reason, 
I  contemplate  as  mere  change  of  season ; 
As  winter  throws  aside  his  snowy  wrap, 
When  new-born  springtime  blossoms  in  his  lap. 

[course: 

Death  is  the  whip  that  snaps  man  from  the  heedless 
Tis  a  bridle  to  the  wayward,  mettled  horse,      [swing, 
And  knowing  not  when  its  dread  lash  may  threat'ning 
Indifferent  he  acts;  yet  mindful  of  the  sting. 
Death  is  the  mill  that  planes  the  timber  smooth ; 
The  mighty  leveler  that  finds  the  heart  of  truth. 

Come !  let  us  strike  the  beaten  trail 

That  leads  thru  leafy-tented  vale ; 

Where  creviced  rocks  o'erhang  the  way, 

Adown  whose  clefts  cool  brooklets  spray. 

There  view  the  forest,  columned  long, 

Whose  siege-scared   phalanx,   marshalled  strong, 

Gazes  upon  a  death-strewn  path 

That  marks  the  tempest's  awful  wrath. 

O  fleeting  winds ! 

That  viewless  sweep  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 
What  do  ye  hide  from  mortal  eye? 

124 


YOUTH 

0  gentle  spirit  of  the  cool ! 

Of  rushing  brook,  of  lazy  pool, 
Of  pine,  of  flow'ret  at  my  feet — 
Of  sighing  zephyrs  soft  and  sweet, 
Of  calm,  of  holiness  and  peace 
Whose  finite  voicings  never  cease : 

1  thrive  on  the  efflux  of  your  thought ; 
The  arcane  treasures  I  have  sought, 
Discovered  to  my  reaching  gaze; 

Have  led  my  soul  from  doubtings  maze. 

SEXTON 
Like  leaves  the  drifting  bubbles  pass 

Adown  life's  wending  streams; 
As  valeward  grow  the  waters  still, 

Toward  the  sea  of  dreams. 

Within  the  bubbles'  prismic  film, 

Is  stored  the  riant  note 
Of  some  sweet  highland  rillet's  song; 

Yet  silently  they  float: 

Nor  doth  their  bursting  free  a  sound 

Upon  the  heedless  air ; 
'Tis  only  in  the  dreamer's  heart, 

It  finds  an  echo  there. 

Come  rest  upon  yon  rising  knoll, 
For  hark !  a  fun'ral  knell  doth  toll ; 

125 


And  winding  'neath  yon  cypress'  shade, 

The  cortege  labors  up  the  grade. 

The  drums  and  brasses,  by  their  din, 

Attention  draw  to  that  within 

The  silvered  box.    The  trappings  rare 

Do  glimmer  in  the  sun's  bright  glare. 

The  nervous  horses  prance  and  fret! 

The  drivers,  with  their  features  set 

In  melancholy,  mournful  mien, 

Look  bored,  but  count  their  labor's  gain. 

They  pause  now  in  the  yawning  shade 

Of  that  deep  granite  newly  laid, 

And  o'er  a  fragrant  mat  of  bloom 

Convey  the  casket  to  the  tomb. 

The  widow,  on  whose  fingers  gleam 

The  shimm'ring  bubbles  of  youth's  dream, 

Grows  boist'rous  in  her  grief,  and  loud 

She  whimpers  o'er  the  costly  shroud. 

Mark  not  her  grief,  but  her  rich  dress, 

That  seemingly  doth  most  impress. 

We'll  grant,  her  sorrow's  deep,  but  sure 

Her  wealth  the  with'ring  blight  will  cure. 

Her  heart  already  thrills  anew ; 

She  leans  upon  some  friendship  true, 

That  turns  her  from  the  pulseless  dead ; 

Puts  living  visions  there  instead 

And  tunes  her  ears  to  hear  the  chime 

Of  love  enthroned  a  second  time. 

But  mark  that  shabby  little  group, 
Gathered  there  with  mournful  droop 

126 


Among  the  graves  that  bear  no  sign 
(Except  the  bloomless  ivy  vine) 
Of  those  whose  bodies  lie  at  rest, 
Beneath  their  grassy,  oval  crest. 

There's  naught  to  draw  to  them  our  view, 

Save  honest  sorrow,  thru  and  thru: 

It  needs  no  searching  look  to  tell, 

That  with  the  last  of  earth  that  fell, 

A  grief  that  fathoms  misery, 

Survives  that  toiler's  memory. 

For,  clinging  there  in  dumb  amaze, 

His  helpless  children  wond'ring  gaze; 

Whose  mother,  stunned,  reads  in  their  eyes 

Scant  comfort  where  their  futures  rise. 

No  friendly  proffer  lends  support, 

Nor  payeth  homage  to  her  court. 

Back  to  her  lonely,  cheerless  nest 

She  folds  her  little  ones  to  rest; 

Where  seated  near  a  vacant  chair 

She  gazes  on  with  sightless  stare 

Into  the  future,  blank,  unknown, 

Heartbroken,  comfortless,  alone. 

Grant  both  these  griefs  alike  sincere 

(Wealth  is  no  bar  to  sorrow's  tear) 

I  must  weigh  her  grief  as  double, 

Whose  mind  and  body  waste  in  trouble. 

We  dread  death's  painful  lingering, 

But  poverty's  the  master  sting. 


127 


Mother  of  the  noisy  brood, 
Wearied,  you  shall  rest  anon; 

Past  the  cares  of  motherhood, 

Heav'n  shall  smile  your  fears  upon. 

Arms  that  never  fold  in  rest, 

Eyes  that  watch  the  fevered  night ; 

Little  bodies  must  be  drest, 

Minds  and  faces  clean  and  bright. 

What  the  glory  shall  be  yours 

When  your  sons  and  daughters  rise 

To  a  fame  that  time  endures; 
Tho  your  worry  never  dies. 

Anxious  in  life's  budding  day, 
In  the  gloom  of  gath'ring  night ; 

Joyous  in  the  tints  of  May; 

Hopeful   in  grief's  withering  blight. 

Mother  of  the  noisy  brood ; 

Comfort !    God  is  bending  down  : 
Your  sweet  trust  is  understood — 

On  your  brow  He  rests  a  crown. 

The  mother  principle  predominates: 
Her  vital,  fruitful  instinct  recreates. 
Earth  is  as  wife  to  Nature's  ripened  pod, 
And  reproduces  from  her  fertile  sod : 

128 


Her  children,  nurtured  on  her  ample  breast, 
Mature  and  crumble  to  their  final  rest : 
Become  a  part  of  her  creating  pow'r, 
Revived  to  life  beneath  the  grateful  show'r. 
Is  man  less  useful  in  his  thoughtful  sphere? 
Inspires  he  not  from  out  the  distant  clear, 
Intelligence,  diffused  of  nature's  God, 
That  differates  him  from  the  sordid  clod? 

If  we  were  part  of  earth,  our  seed  would  grow 
Within  it:     But  'twere  not  intended  so: 
Our  essence  flows  from  out  the  God  of  love; 
Nature  serves  us,  but  our  bud  must  bloom  above. 

Dame  Nature  o'er  her  landscape  draws 
The  fundaments  of  Heaven's  laws : 
Mark  how  the  geometric  signs 
This  undulating  earth  defines. 
Here,  straight,  unyielding  lines  of  law 
From  whose  dictates  we  may  not  draw: 
There,  mark  the  plastic  lines  of  love; 
Of  justice,  tempered  from  above: 
These  are  most  frequent  in  the  scene — 
Infinitude  lieth  between. 

You  whom  the  grave  hath  robb'd  of  love 
Can  scarcely  comprehend  the  easeless  pangs 
They  suffer  who  must  worship  from  afar. 
Who  meet  their  own  when  love  availeth  not — 
Nor  tender  look,  nor  fervent  word,  nor  hope ! 

129 


As  circumspect  as  heav'n's  remotest  star 
That  glances  in,  but  never  warms  the  soul, 
I've  stood  aloof  from  my  affinity, 
Seeing  her  laid  with  sacrilegious  hands 
Beneath  this  sod,  while  I  remotely  mourned. 

What  strange  subjective  pow'r  hath  bid  me  stray 
Among  the  graves,  this  unaccustomed  way? 
Not  since  my  years  were  few  and  free  as  thine 
Have  I  o'ertrod  this  path,  now  green  with  vine. 

This  little  mound  doth  to  my  heart  recall 
When  her  mute  passing  cast  a  mighty  pall 
Upon  my  life ;  and  I  embraced  the  cloister. 

O  day  of  June! 

Beneath  whose  leafy  shade  we  stood, 

While  tuneful  zephyrs  swept  the  wood: 

Or  wandered  down  the  mossy  way, 

By  paths  that  wound 

To  where  the  brook  leap'd  into  spray 

With  joyous  bound. 

The  bird's  song  then  our  hearts  beguiled, 

In  bush  and  tree; 
While  nodding  blooms  looked  up  and  smiled — 

On  you  and  me. 

Here,  on  this  stone,  we  sat  and  dreamed, 
The  while  our  eyes  love's  solace  beamed. 
How  thy  soft  hand  I  held,  so  meek, 
Sent  floods  of  crimson  to  my  cheek : 

130 


And  when  my  love  I  did  confess — 

My  soul  upwinged,  you  answered — yes! 

'Twas  June — your  hair  was  golden  brown; 

Years  had  not  blanched  my  youthful  crown. 

Ah !  we  were  happy  then ;  but  now 

Before  this  granite  slab  I  bow — 

Alone ! — the  birds  are  singing  yet : 

But  ever  rings  a  vain  regret 

Aill  thru  my  life  its  mournful  tone; 

For  thou  art  gone,  and  I — Alone ! 


Life  is  not  ours  to  give  or  take  away, 

As  some  commodity  we  understand: 

It  is  external  to  and  not  a  part 

Of  our  organic  system,  temporal. 

How  senseless,  therefore,  are  these  epitaphs 

That  we  inscribe  to  memory ! 

These  broken  columns,  meaningless: 

As  if  life  could  be  severed  in  its  growth? 

These  monuments,  by  their  great  massiveness, 

Do  seem  to  press  their  subjects  ever  down. 

The  modest  ivy  strives  to  hide  from  view 

The  hopelessness  engraven  on  the  shaft ; 

And  reads  a  valued  lesson  we  should  heed, 

Upon  the  resurrection  of  the  soul. 

Fair  Nature  blooms,  then  fades  and  blooms  again, 

E'en  thru  the  blight  of  winter's  chill ; 

And  all  the  certain  steps  in  her  soft  tread 

Attune  their  progress  to  immortal  life. 

Grave-stones  are  but  the  mile-posts  on  life's  road, 

131 


And  do  not  mark  our  long  abiding  rest: 

My  heart  died  many  years  ago  and  lies 

In  ashes  on  the  pyre  of  love; 

While  I,  its  soul,  do  live  again  and  gaze 

Back  o'er  that  resurrection  with  new  hope ; 

With  compassion,  dim,  as  thru  a  veil, 

O'erview  the  ruins  of  that  yester  stress. 

The  kindnesses  bestowed  by  gentle  hands 

Were  laid  like  blossoms  on  my  pulseless  breast : 

And  tho  their  accents  hushed  inaudibly, 

The  impress  of  their  consecration  lives. 

Emotions  all,  may  pass,  be  laid  away, 

But  scarred  upon  the  soul  their  moods  survive. 


Propelled  by  soul,  the  Master's  shuttles  wove, 
Gauze  upon  gauze,  a  mass  of  vital  webb 
Whose  tissues  braided  into  countless  weaves 
Of  sinew,  nerves  and  pulsing  arteries, 
Until  the  whole  assumed  the  Master's  thought. 

The  motor  of  that  bioplasmic  loom 

Remains  within  until  the  woof  is  wove, 

Then  turns  to  its  original  estate, 

Ethereal,  invisible  to  this, 

The  sight  that  it  so  deftly  fixed; 

Which  see'th  not  the  Workman's  dextrous  hand. 

The  animating  principle  is  God : 

The  animated  is  the  Spirit,  Soul ; 

Which  doth  reanimate  corporeal. 

132 


Outline  in  mind  a  form  invisible — 

The  real,  the  perfect  and  original : 

That  in  due  process  is  designed  to  pass 

A  span  of  its  existence  in  a  sphere 

Where  it  must  learn  the  alphabet  of  Life: 

Attracting  to  its  glow  the  bioplast ; 

That  filling  in  and  round  the  pattern,  weaves, 

Within  and  out,  vein,  nerve  and  vital — all ; 

Such  as  best  serves  its  earthly  needs: 

The  eyes  attuned  to  light  the  ears  to  sound — 

The  heart  and  ev'ry  function  throbbing  Life, 

Whose  motor  is  the  Spirit,  formed  of  God ; 

The  you,  the  I,  the  person  tangible: 

(We'll  call  it  Spirit  for  a  better  word, 

To  picture  to  your  sense  the  plan  I  hold.) 

Grown  conscious  of  this  knit  material 

And  seeing  only  with  light  irritated  eyes, 

We've  grown  away  from  Truth's  original. 

It  seems  to  me  the  storied  fall  of  man 

Was  meant  to  show  his  transformation  from 

The  Spirit  into  throbbing  flesh. 

What  more  symmetrical  in  all  the  vast, 

Than  man  in  his  most  perfect  mould? 

The  undulations  of  the  universe 

Enweave  their  lines  into  fair  woman's  form : 

The  halo  of  that  pre-angelic  state 

Doth  still  illume  her  countenance. 

Sun,  moon  and  stars  glow  in  her  soul-lit  eyes : 

133 


The  elements  obey  her  witcheries: 

The  spraying  cataract's  her  flowing  hair; 

The  ocean  surges  in  her  heaving  breast. 

The   inter-heav'nly   spaces    must   have   thronged 

With  joyous  multitudes  ere  earth  was  tossed 

A  plastic  mass  upon  the  buoyant  air. 

Earth  show'd  her  gladness  for  heaven's  primal  shower 

Smiling  her  vallies  into  fairest  flower; 

And  thus  awoke  from  incrustaceous  sleep, 

To  hear  great  rivers  coursing  over  steep. 

Then,  like  a  huge  convention  round,  the  stars 

Beamed  o'er  their  radiance  and  silent  watched 

The  wondrous  process  of  maturing  life. 

Methinks  I  see  those  Spirit  legions  now, 

All  circling  to  the  spheral  harmony, 

As  with  ethereal  hands  they  scatter  bloom 

To  beautify  the  throne  of  coming  man. 

Then,  from  that  congress  swept  the  chosen  pair, 

Selected  for  perfection  by  their  God : 

Material'd,  installed  in  Eden  fair; 

There  left  to  rule  in  unmolested  sway, 

But  not  dissevered  from  their  pre-estate. 


Man  hath  become  so  bridled  to  his  ills 
That  he  hath  lost  the  very  feel  of  pow'r ; 
And  knoweth  but  the  dictates  of  the  rein. 
So  long  he  hath  been  ridden,  freedom  hath 
Become  a  memory,  long  lost  and  vain. 

134 


Hark!     The  import  of  that  bell  I  seem  to  sense 
Except  in  rites  pontifical,  it  rings  not  so. 
What  unseem'  stir  doth  quicken  Carmel's  halls? 

Where  drifts  white  vapor  round  the  altar-lights, 
Swept  from  the  censer's  dimly  smould'ring  ash, 
The  dying  Serra  kneels,  bathed  in  the  glow, 
Receiving  absolution  on  his  soul, 
That  soon  must  quit  the  cloister  of  the  flesh. 

Above  the  gentle  Palou's  voice  uplifts 
The  "Tantum  Ergo,"  solemn  hymn, 
On  tongues  that  sense  but  mystery. 

"Tantum  ergo  Sacramentum 

Veneremur  cernui, 
Et  antiquum  documentum 

Novo  cedat  ritui, 
Praestet  fides  supplementum 

Sensuum  defectui." 

O'er  the  singing  host  with  wondrous  clearness 
Rings  the  dying  Serra's  voice : 

"Genetori,  genetoque 

Laus  et  jubilatio, 
Salus,  honor,  virtus  quoque 

Sit  et  benedictio ; 
Procedenti  ab  utroque, 

Compar  sit  laudatio." 

135 


"O  heart  of  Jesu  !    Glowing!  radiant! 

Inspire  Thou  and  enlighten  my  rapt  soul 

With  Thy  divine  and  ever-present  Love ! 

Angels  and  Saints,  let  us  conjoin  in  song: 

Praising  the  heart  of  Him !" 

The  worshipers  astonied  listen,  rapt, 

As  o'er  the  breathless  hush  his  cadence  dies. 


The  tolling  death-bell  echoes  mournfully 
From  hill  to  billow  o'er  the  verdant  lea. 


Before  the  lifeless  body  sorrowing, 
The  multitude  doth  rend  his  holy  garb. 

The  roaring  cannons  chant  in  mighty  din, 

As   in  his  coffin  simple  as  his  life, 

They  fondly  fold  their  shepherd  to  his  rest. 

Where  gazes  down  the  seven  sorrow'd  soul 

Of  a  sweet  angel  from  the  crumbling  wall , 

Upon  the  sanctuary's  gospel  side, 

Where  oft  his  mellow  voice  the  mass  intoned, 

They  laid  his  body  with  a  pious  pride 

Beneath  the  floor  where  prest  the  humble  knee. 

Tired  labor  hears  no  more  his  gentle  voice — 
Attuned  to  some  sweet  benison  or  pray'r: 
His  people  point  above  the  arching  hills, 

136 


And  story  to  their  children  of  a  Saint. 
A  nation  lays  its  garlands  o'er  his  grave, 
And  treasures  on  its  tables  his  fair  name. 

O  tearful  source,  let  now  your  torrents  flow ! 

A  crowning  sorrow  doth  overwhelm  my  soul; 

He  was  of  all,  the  one  I  loved  the  most, 

Master,  father,  brother,  all  in  one! 

O  let  me  here  in  silence  contemplate 

That  gentle  countenance:     Those   hands  would  fain 

Uplift  to  grant  my  absolution. 

Was  it  worth  while 

To  leave  the  sunshine  of  his  smile?    For  what? 
To  delve  and  fret  and  wonder,  when  I  knew ! 

Ah  yes,  I  feel  that  I  have  broadened  'neath 

The  vast  of  God's  expanding  universe. 

When  we  withdraw  into  engrossing  self 

We  miss  the  contact  that  doth  educate. 

They  who  would  feel  the  throbbing  Heart  of  Hearts, 

Must  keep  their  ringers  on  the  pulse  of  Time : 

Each  aging  hour  expires  but  to  enrich  the  next 

Whose  fleeting  moments  blow  like  petals  from 

The  bloom  that  seeks  expression  in  the  seed: 

Which  then,  of  fragrant  beauty  shorn,  escapes 

The  scrutiny  of  idealizing  man. 

Expression  is  the  zeal  of  all  pursuit 

And  leaves  its  imprint  on  the  drift  of  years. 

We  drop  our  petals  all  along  the  way, 

137 
10 


In  sacrificial  offerings  to  life : 

Perchance  to  reap  old  age,  a  withered  husk, 

Unbeautiful,  a  sere  and  bloomless  pod, 

Dehiscent  with  the  vital  seed  of  God. 

There's  not  an  hour  that  calleth  unto  death, 

But  hath  contributed  to  usefulness: 

There's  not  a  throb  of  this  great  human  heart, 

That  doth  not  swell  the  arteries  of  soul. 

Ah  memory,  I  would  not  barter  one 

Full  hour  of  now,  for  they  chimeric  dreams ! 

Youth  hath  its  joys ;  manhood  its  splendid  prime ; 

But  best  of  all,  age  hath  its  steadfast  poise, 

Which  Time's  experience  hath  school'd  to  Faith; 

Unflinching  in  the  future's  Light. 

Between  the  yester  and  the  morrow, 

We   walk  to-day   'twixt  night  and   night; 

From  past  or  future  do  not  borrow, 
Live  in  the  now's  effulgent  light. 

In  youthful  morning's  golden  story, 
In  mid-life's  full,  triumphant  noon ; 

Gathering  harvest,  deeds  of  glory, 
Unto  the  night  that  cometh  soon. 

If  we  but  knew  just  when  our  ship  would  sail, 
Would  we  be  trim  and  ready  for  the  gale? 
If  we  but  knew,  how  diff'rently  we'd  live; 
How  much  more  thought  to  readiness  we'd  give. 

138 


If  we  but  knew  just  where  the  struggles  end, 
Would  we  be  harsh,  or  gentler  measures  lend? 
Ah!  if  we  knew  how  brief  companioned  here, 
We'd  give  less  cause  to  shed  the  bitter  tear; 
We'd  prize  each  moment  as  it  swiftly  flew, 
Nor  fail  one  sweet  good-night,  if  we  but  knew. 


Go  bring  the  fairest 

And  the  rarest, 
Of  all  Nature's  bloom  the  best; 

To  weave  a  cover 

For  your  lover, 
As  we  lay  his  clay  to  rest. 

Come,  verdant  valley ! 

Mountains  rally ! 
To  thy  beautifiers'  love; 

Come  singing  minions, 

On  your  pinions, 
Waft  his  soul  to  realms  above. 


"In  Paradisum  deducant  te  Angeli !" 

When  flesh,  like  mortar,  crumbles  from  its  gauze, 
Leaving  the  network  of  its  basic  frame; 
How  light  that  mesh-like  Spirit  must  aspire, 
Made  aerial  by  severance  from  earth. 

139 


I  hope  there'll  be  a  sunset  golden, 
When  I  bid  the  world  good-night : 
I  hope  there  will  no  leaden  sky 

Overcloud  my  failing  sight; 
I  want  to  sail  down  the  crimson  west, 
When  the  ocean  rocks  the  sun  to  rest 
And  the  stars  shine  out  on  evening's  crest, 
When  I  bid  the  world  good-night. 

I  hope  there  will  surge  a  flood  of  song 

To  banish  every  fear; 
A  crooning  breeze  'mid  the  drowsy  trees, 

As  the  twilight  cometh  near : 
I  want  to  hear  the  nesting  bird, 
The  tinkling  bell  of  the  homing  herd; 
A  soothing  voice  and  a  tender  word, 

When  I  bid  the  world  good-night. 


140 


PART  V. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 
PART    V 

YOUTH 

Seeking  the  rarest  honey-bloom, 
A  bee  came  buzzing  in  my  room ; 
And  circling  round  the  empty  space, 
Found  of  that  bloom  not  any  trace. 
At  last  discouraged  in  the  quest, 
Against  the  window  pane  it  prest. 
All  tenderly  I  freed  the  thing, 
Which  sped  away  on  joyous  wing; 
Then  sadly  watched  its  flow'ry  wend, 
Wishing  that  I  my  soul  might  send, 
Searching  the  gardens  of  the  air 
For  my  lost  blossom,  sweet  and  rare. 


What  a  dreaminess  comes  o'er  us 
When  we're  walking  far  afield; 

And  the  verdant  mead  before  us 
Renders  of  its  fairest  yield. 

How  the  perfume  of  the  flowers 

Freights  the  summer-drowsy  breeze, 

As  it  listens  in  the  bowers 
To  the  humming  of  the  bees. 


143 


What  a  dreaminess  and  longing, 

Stealeth  o'er  us  as  we  pass ; 
Care-free  moments,  meadow-songin,^. 

\Yhere  bright  blossoms  star  the  grass. 

[press; 

If  you  would  sing,  you  must  have  something  to  ex- 
An  urgent  longing,  born  of  sweet  or  bitterness. 

(Joyously  the  bells  are  ringing, 
In  the  cloister,  mass  is  singing; 
Candles  flicker  round  the  altar, 
\Yhile  the  monks  o'er-chant  the  psalter: 
Now  the  organ  tones,  sustaining, 
Mingle  with  the  priest's  ordaining. 

'Neath  an  aged  oak's  cool  shelter, 
Where  the  filmy  shadows  pelter. 
And  belated  breezes  dally 
O'er  the  bosom  of  the  valley. 
Great  heights  above  and  deeps  adown. 
Rearward,  towering  mountains  frown  : 
Before,  a  broad  expanse  of  sky 
Smiles  o'er  fair  fields,  with  radiant  eye. 

Far  yonder  circling  over  height, 
An  eagle  wings  its  lofty  flight. 

All  silent  save  the  restless  flow 
Of  dashing  waters  far  below. 

144 


Such  the  scene  our  pilgrims'  choosing 
For  their  solitary  musing.) 

YOUTH 

Last  night,  half  waking  from  a  dreamless  sleep, 

I  seemed  uplifted  as  in  aerial  flight. 

An  impulse  unresistant  urged  me  on, 

Till  in  some  strange  new  realm  I  seem'd  astray. 

Confusing  visions  passed  my  fancy,  vague, 

While  my  heart  seem'd  expectant  of  some  joy 

That  like  an  impulse  came  and  went  anon, 

Alternate  o'er  my  nerves  with  chill  and  fire. 

Once,  with  a  rousing  effort  did  I  strive 

To  free  my  body  from  a  strange  embrace 

That  held  my  arms  and  limbs  benumbingly, 

And  seem'd  to  stifle  in  a  breathless  spell. 

Strange  lights  and  shadows,  intermittently 

Passed  o'er  my  slowly  dawning  gaze, 

As  in  the  light  of  slow  returning  thought. 

Gazing  between  the  focus  of  my  lids, 

I  saw,  as  actual  as  life,  more  real, 

Two  radiant  eyes  that  rested  on  my  own. 

I  looked  again,  again,  and  oft  again, 

And  ever  did  they  meet  my  searching  glance. 

There's  no  mistaking  whose  they  were,  for  I 

Can  ne'er  forget  the  outline  of  her  face. 

Disturbed,  upwrought  by  my  experience, 
I  passed  the  night  reclining  oft  to  try 

145 


From  an  recumbent  attitude  to  view 
The  blessed  face  that  gazed  on  me  full  oft, 
Smiling  with  winsomeness  beyond  belief. 
The  vision  vanished  with  dissolving  night, 
Leaving  a  loneliness  within  my  heart. 
'Twas  but  a  dream,  perchance,  but  beautiful ! 

Father, 

Scarce  could  I  wait  to  question  your  deep  sense, 
So  hastened  hither  to  obtain  your  views. 
Was  it  the  play  of  light  on  vision's  nerves, 
That,  linked  with  strong  desire,  pictured  her  face? 
If  so,  why,  then,  this  after  feel  of  glow 
That  emanates  from  my  invested  soul? 

SEXTON 

How  strange  this  absent-presence.     How   replete 
With  conscious  visitation  from  the  gone. 
Wherever  is  this  unseen,  mystic  land, 
'Tis  not  removed  beyond  discerning  sense. 
We  see  but  terminals  and  not  the  beam — 
And  that  we  view  is  neither  star  nor  light. 

If  it  requires  the  concentrated  rays 

Of  countless  suns  to  irritate  this  eye 

To  sight,  what  seeing  still  remains  unmasked ! 

If  o'er  our  silence  roars  the  clash  of  spheres, 

What  symphonies  remain  for  man  to  hear! 

If  past  our  touch  are  things  we  cannot  feel, 

Why  may  not  subtler,  living  souls  exist, 

146 


Identical  with  beings  we  have  known, 
Whose  presences  are  real  as  we  are  tuned? 

» 

YOUTH 

The  brightest  gem  in  all  that  cluster  there, 
That  jewels  heav'n  in  glowing  beauty  rare, 
Must  be  her  Soul,  resplendent  in  its  youth, 
Immortal  now,  in  Life's  Eternal  Truth. 
When  angels  gather  in  seraphic  glee 
To  voice  the  songs  of  Love's  eternity , 
From  out  the  host,  Her  voice  will  lift  its  tone, 
Calling  from  out  the  lost,  my  spirit  lone : 
The  cadence  rapt,  I'll  follow  thru  the  night, 
Until  her  loving  glance  dawns  on  my  sight. 
In  that  effulgent  morn',  all  sorrow  o'er, 
I'll  clasp  her  to  my  breast  and  grieve  no  more. 

SEXTON 

Think  not  it  was  an  idle  dream, 
More  real  these  dreams  are  than  they  seem ! 
Give  thanks  that  you  have  been  allowed 
To  gaze  beyond  death's  mystic  shroud. 
Rejoice  then,  for  your  souls  are  nearing, 
Shadows  from  your  ways  are  clearing: 
O !  thou  hast  sought  not  love  in  vain, 
And  if  you'd  speak  with  her  again, 
Repair  to  yonder  sheltered  vale 
When  softly  tunes  the  nightingale. 
In  silence  then,  while  stars  light  o'er 
Their  tapers  from  fair  Luna's  shore, 

147 


Await  her  coming  in  the  night — 
Aglow  with  phosphorescent  light : 
Soft  as  the  night  bird's  falling  note, 
Her  spirit  then  will  earthward  float. 

YOUTH 

0  love !  before  I  lost  you,  dear, 
Beyond  the  limits  of  this  sphere 

I  could  not  see. 
But  ever  now,  toward  the  skies 

1  gaze  with  upturned,  longing  eyes, 

In  search  of  thee. 

Some  day,  I  know,  the  clouds  will  part 
And  I  shall  hold  you  to  my  heart, 

Eternally ! 

SEXTON- 
Think  you,  as  the  stream  flows  to  the  sea, 

That  it  never  will  return? 
Do  you  think  that  the  ocean  tides  that  sweep 

Are  lost  in  a  viewless  bourne? 
Ah !  not  one  drop  of  their  flood  is  lost, 

For  it  all  returns  again ; 
To  the  parching  breast  of  mother  earth, 

In  the  rainbow  and  the  rain. 

YOUTH 
Love  proffered  me  a  brimming  cup — 

Athirst  I  drank  the  nectar  up : 
Too  deep  alas,  O  bitter  snare ! 

I  found  the  dregs  of  parting  there. 

148 


Must  I  withdraw  the  parching  lip 
From  this,  my  soul-reviving  sip? 
Or  comes  she  now  but  to  assure 
That  Life  and  Love  for  aye  endure? 

SEXTON 

Sweet  Faith  rewards  the  trial'd  heart, 
And  sweetens  o'er  the  bitter  part. 
The  dregs  within  the  cup  of  Love 
Are  priceless  jewels  there  above; 
And  they  who  drain  Love's  goblet  deep, 
The  richer  harvest  There  may  reap. 

'Tis  sacrifice  of  every  kind 
That  leads  us  our  lost  ones  to  find. 
For  one,  'tis  love,  another  gold — 
Each  must  give  o'er  what  he  does  hold 
Most  dear,  and  pass  it  to  the  next: 
This  is  the  burden  of  life's  text. 
These  virgin  brooklets,  laughing  past, 
Must  kiss  the  salty  sea  at  last. 


149 


PART  VI. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 

PART  VI 

YOUTH 

The  sun,  'most  hid  by  westward  sweeping  hills, 
Reflects  the  splendor  of  its  waning  glow 
In  golden  shafts  athwart  a  cloud-isled  sky, 
Whose  waking  stars  their  radial  glances  glint 
Upon  tired  day's  last  even'-hushed  good-night. 

Valeward,  with  silent  tread,,  comes  shadow-tide: 
The  winds  are  dead :  the  drowsy  leaves  droop  still 
And  motionless. 

The  birds  sing  not,  but  nestward  thrum  their  wings. 
The  owl,  freed  from  its  day-fast  sleep,  awakes, 
And  breathes  upon  the  glen  its  call  of  night. 
The  bat  weaves  spectre-like  between  the  trees 
And  frogs  intone  their  melancholy  chant, 
Where  bogs  glow  in  the  fleeting,  pallid  light. 

Inspired  by  deep  unrest,  alone  I  wend 
A  narrow  trail  that  winds  far  up  the  slope 
From  o'er  whose  slanting  steep  I  view  afar, 
Day's  night-inverted  glance. 

I  gaze  enraptured  o'er  the  quietude 

That  folds  so  tranquilly  the  vales  below. 

The  em'rald  spread  of  fields:     The  shimm'ring  slate 

Of  waters,  winding  thru  the  everglades. 

153 
11 


The  bar-wise  lights  of  yonder  village,  now 
Align  the  hem  of  undulating  hills. 

Cumulous,  the  fluffy  mists  enfold 
Yon  sunset-ambered  mountain  peak: 

The  tinkle  of  toned  bells  cometh  awaft, 
From  yonder  meadow-browsing  herd. 

Anon  I  turn  my  urgent  steps  unto 

My  steadfast  friends,  the  upaspiring  hills. 

Is  it  the  spirit  that  doth  urge 
Us  gently  o'er  the  cliff's  high  verge, 
Where  gazing  down  into  the  deep, 
We  feel  an  impulse  to  o'erleap? 

This  upward  trail  is  like  the  path  of  life, 
A  weary  way  we  crutch  along  its  course : 
Now  raptured  in  the  glow  of  nature's  bloom ; 
Now  silent  in  the  dead  of  winter's  blight: 
Accompanied  but  briefly,  then — alone! 

Our  paths  lead  away  thru  life's  forest, 
O'er  upland,  thru  valley  and  plain ; 

The  trees  are  the  years  bearing  fruitage, 
And  shelter  in  gladness  or  pain. 

The  leaves  are  the  hours  that  are  falling, 
Some  golden,  some  blighted  and  sear; 

The  blossoms  are  moments  of  glory, 
And  dewdrops  their  petals  betear. 

154 


The  winds  are  the  deep  tides  of  fortune, 

That  revel  at  ebb  or  at  height ; 
The  song  of  the  bird  is  the  summons 

That  wakens  us  after  the  night. 

As  winds  of  now  delete  the  yester's  sands, 
And  rains  dissolve  the  mountains  and  discharge 
Their  sediments  upon  the  loamy  plains, 
Ripe  pods,  dehiscent,  seed  the  virgin  sod, 
Whence  rear  forestal  solitudes  of  thought. 

Unlike  yon  tall  sequoia  whose  pride 

Salutes  the  glance  of  morning's  prince  of  light , 

Ye  broad  misshapen  cedars  that  outreach 

Your  avid  arms  to  grasp  o'ermuch  of  air, 

Are  dwarfed  and  blunt  with  greed  and  selfishness. 

Ye  tender,  clinging  vines,  how  strong  withal, 
Yet  in  your  leaning  helplessness  ye  drag 
To  earth  the  sturdy  saplings  of  the  grove. 

The  modest  fern's  pinnated  leaf  unwinds 
Its  plumous  ball   to  bear  its  weight  of  dew, 
Which  teaches  us  the  burdens  that  we  bear 
Do  stimulate  the  soul  to  higher  growth. 

Yon  chipmunk  contemplates  me  from  his  perch, 
Then  scampers  timidly  among  the  leaves ; 
As  if  instinct  hath  taught,  beware  of  man ! 

155 


Thus  frightful  and  unfriendly  do  we  seem 

To  nature's  inoffensive  kind. 

Malevolent  and  poison-spuming  herbs 

Their  nauseous,  malodorous  fumes  exhale, 

A  warning  that  we  may  resist  their  spell. 

Far  worse  than  these  are  perfumed  buds  that  lure 

Us  unsuspectingly  upon  their  sting: 

As  some  insinuate  into  our  lives, 

Infuse  between,  and  spoil  our  harmony. 

Deceptive  is  this  lofty  atmosphere 

And  causeth  us  to  oft  misjudge  our  view 

Of  that  mysterious  and  vague,  called  space. 

Not  above,  not  below  us,  but  afar, 

As  if  mere  atoms  on  the  plan  of  life, 

Walk  many  who  bethink  they  move  with  us : 

And  we  oft  think  so,  too,  and  grieve  to  view 

Their  circumstantial  drifting  out  of  range. 

But  'tis  a  fact,  we  drift  our  destined  way, 

Each  separate,  dividual,  alone. 

Relationship's  a  shallow  sentiment, 

Save  where  it  dwells  in  perfect  harmony. 

Love  ringeth  true  and  solemn  as  a  chord, 

Whose  intervals  are  perfectly  attuned. 

Ah,  friends! 

Beware  of  o'er  much  hospitality : 
There  often  lies  some  snare  behind  its  mask. 
The  quest  of  pleasure  leadeth  to  destroy; 
And  discontent  a  sister  is  to  woe. 

By  clinging  to  the  frivolous  we  err, 

156 


E'en  tho  their  light  seems  brighter  than  the  True. 

Beware  the  mood  that  craves  exciting  scenes : 

That  fevers  to  be  foremost  in  the  dance, 

For  show  and  not  the  urge  of  grace. 

These  are  the  unawaked  whose  frothy  minds 

Subsist  upon  the  bubble's  empty  dream : 

We  pay  the  fiddler  dearly  for  the  dance. 

Eternity  should  mingle  as  the  light 

In  each  and  ev'ry  pleasure  of  this  life : 

Let  it  lay  hold  within,  that  we  may  live 

Devoutly  joyful  and  divinely  sad. 

Joy  is  that  ecstasy  we  feel  to  sense 

The  balmy  effervesce  of  creeping  spring: 

The  soft  unfolding  of  the  early  bud, 

When  winter's  chilling  tide  hath  scarce  retired. 

Earth  seems  unfaithful  in  her  promises: 

The  rainbow  and  the  mountain  peak  deceive; 

The  sunbeam  hath  its  cloud,  the  rain  its  sleet ; 

The  bloom,  the  rivulet,  the  murm'ring  winds ; 

The  shadows  and  all  else  of  Nature's  own 

Seem  fickle  as  the  season's  changeful  mood, 

The  twilight  promises  serene  repose, 

But  dawn  awakes  to  restlessness  and  strife. 

The  bubble  of  achievement  leads  us  on, 

But  lo !  the  grave  seems  our  finality. 

Then  let  us  fix  our  faith  above  deceit, 
Nor  trust  our  futures  to  uncertain  fate : 
We  must  ignore  earth's  dissipating  views, 
Work  while  we  may  and  keep  the  mind  aloft. 

157 


The  semiphores  of  space  display  their  lights 
To  guide  our  thoughts  unto  exalted  heights. 

Now  do  I  sense  the  feel'  of  steadfast  calm 
That  settles  o'er  mid-summer's  tranquil  days; 
When  verdure  fears  nor  frost  nor  storm, 
And  yester  and  tomorrow  are  the  same. 
We  need  this  hopeful,  trustful  little  span 
To  feather  for  the  last  autumnal  flight : 
Just  as  congested  waters  gather  force 
For  their  last  leap  into  the  great  unknown; 
These  energetic  streams,  their  labors  o'er, 
Repose  erewhile  upon  the  valley's  breast ; 
Then  ebb  toward  their  deep  finality. 

A  butterfly,  joy  laden,  flutters  by : 

Too  bright  the  day ,  too  rich  the  way  with  bloom, 

Each  moment  frivoled  o'er  a  nectared  cup, 

Hath  brought  the  night  with  creeping  pace  anear; 

How  soon  its  little  day  is  spent ! 

The  ants  and  bees,  so  diligent  all  day, 

Are  in  their  kingdoms  snugly  tuckt  away : 

Time  wingeth  heavier  for  them. 

The  snail  that  creeping  leaves  a  slimy  track, 
Upon  its  back  its  dwelling  ever  trunds : 
While  it  may  frequent  change  its  biding  place, 
The  character  must  e'er  remain  the  same. 

O  sense  reputed  owl,  thy  wisdom's  vain : 
Seeing  but  night  thou  hast  no  faith  in  day. 

158 


The  fabled  sun,  thy  wing'd  companions'  songs; 
Are  thine  to  joy  and  yet  thy  reason  scoffs. 
While  round  about  thee  nature's  beauties  vie, 
Thou  seest  them  not  with  thy  benighted  eye — 
E'en  so,  thou  needst  look  wise,  unwittingly. 

The  sense  of  some  emotion    new  and  vast, 

Uplifts  besodden  thought  on  airy  wing, 

As  urged  by  oft  recurring  themes,  recalled 

By  each  familiar  object  on  my  path, 

I  press  ravineward  t'ward  a  cavern's  arch, 

Where  Time  and  Tempest  in  their  constant  wear 

Have  breached  the  earth  into  a  mighty  vault 

O'er  whose  damp  corridors  the  lichens  cling, 

Whose  air  is  heavy  with  the  mold  of  years. 

Led  inward  by  a  vague,  subconscious  urge, 

A  fascination  strange  possesseth  me; 

Akid  winding  down  a  rough,  declining  path, 

I  pause,  immersed  within  the  cavern's  night. 

The  grandeur  of  the  lofty  archivolts 

I  can  but  with  my  inward  sight  review: 

The  silence  of  the  stone-upheaving  walls 

Weighs  heavy  on  my  sound-exploring  ears. 

Anon  my  steps  dislodge  a  loosened  rock, 

That  bounding,  thrills  the  lifeless  air  and  wakes 

Wierd,  voiceful  echoes,  like  a  hidden  choir 

Whose  anthem  dies  upon  some  distant  way. 

How  like  some  breasts 
Whose  empty  halls  are  silent  of  response 
Until  outpressed  by  sorrow's  tread. 

159 


I  pause  to  hear  a  gurgling  brooklet  tune 

Its  crystal  drops  to  dripping  melody. 

A  pale  narcissus  lifts  its  longing  face 

There  close  beside  the  mirror's  holy  font, 

Oft  dipping  in  its  sacramental  tide. 

Thou  pale  and  ardent  bloom,  oft  we  have  mused 

In  our  love's  old,  together  days,  upon 

Thy  more  than  cruel  fate. 

Oppressed  by  solitude  and  night,  I  turn 

My  gaze  toward  the  outer  sweep  of  sky. 

Space  hath  o'erturned  its  starry  cup  and  spilled 

Its  glints  upon  the  robe  of  night : 

The  mellow  moon  diffuseth  her  soft  glow, 

Where,  spreading  like  a  sea  before  me  rolls 

The  viewless  waves  from  out  God's  mid-air  deeps. 

Great  thoughts  like  fleet-winged  messengers,  o'ersail, 

Cleaving  with  feathered  prow  my  fluent  soul. 

How  vast  and  how  unsearchable  is  space ! 

I  cast  desire  into  its  mighty  sea, 
Where  tideful  reaches  never  cease; 

And  o'er  the  ebb  that  ripples  back  to  me, 
There  breaks  a  wave  tranquil  of  peace. 

I  cast  my  thoughts  far  into  starry  space, 
Beyond  the  hushing  western  slope; 

And  sweet,  an  echo  from  that  after  place, 
Sings  to  my  soul  a  song  of  hope. 

160 


I  cast  despair  into  the  yester-flow, 

Where  doubt  and  bitter  pain  are  thrust ; 

And  o'er  me  beams  the  full,  enlambent  glow, 
Of  that  bright  orb  of  perfect  trust. 

A  faint,  low  whisper  of  an  olden  time 

Lisps  o'er  the  meditative  now : 

And  hark!  what  melody  is  that 

That  weaves  its  theme  into  ecstatic  song? 

So  languishing,  so  dulcet  is  its  flow — 

Ye  aerial  harps,  are  touched  by  unseen  hands? 

Whence  are  those  tones,  soft  as  a  wafting  breeze? 

They  call  to  mind  as  doth  a  perfumed  breath, 

A  sacred  moment  of  the  past. 

Art  thou  a  songlet,  straying?    Or  art  lost 
And  murmuring  unto  the  heedless  pines? 
If  that  be  so,  then  stray  no  more ;  for  I, 
Receptive  to  your  pure  infiltrancy, 
Do  long  to  make  your  theme  a  part  of  me : 
Be  thou  of  earth  or  air,  sweet  Spirit,  sing! 
Breathe  o'er  again,  the  swan-song  of  my  soul ! 

A  melodized  commingling  of  night  winds 
Sweeps  thru  the  harmonizing  forest  reeds; 
That  swaying  'neath  a  deft,  inspiring  touch, 
Send  missioned  forth  the  world's  sublimest  theme. 
Hush  thought !    Mar  not  the  sweet  aeolian  strain  : 
Be  silent,  heart,  lest  thou  disturb  the  tune! 
O  pulse,  suspend  your  throbbing  for  a  while, 

161 


That  I  may  sense  the  sentient  rhapsody, 
Unhindered  by  the  consciousness  of  life. 

O  touch  my  heart  gently,  sweet  singer, 
Lest  fond  recollections  awake; 

Reviewing  the  visions  long  vanished, 
Reviving  the  tears  and  heartache. 

O  dwell  not  long  on  the  cadence  sad, 
Lest  some  treasured  spirit  arise ; 

A  face  that  is  now  but  a  memory, 
Since  lost  to  my  o'erwistful  eyes. 

Intone  not  too  fervently,  singer, 
For  the  slumbering  yester's  sake ; 

Pass  the  yore-waking  words  o'er  quickly, 
Lest  my  heart  'neath  the  old  strain  break. 

O  lend  to  thy  mood  more  abandon, 
Trip  lightly  some  wave-winging  lay; 

But  glow  not  the  embers,  O  singer, 
That  have  smouldered  many  a  day. 

My 'thoughts  in  high  ecstatic  sweep,  alert 

Unto  the  inward  flow  of  leav'ning  life, 

Begin  to  soar  subjectively  aloft, 

O'er  all  objective  and  material. 

Intuitive,  I  seem  to  hold  at  once 

All  senses  primed  unto  the  hereward  trend 

162 


Of  some  occurrence  that  doth  fix  my  soul. 

A  presence  unmistakable  and  real, 

Seems  hovering,  tho  viewless,  round  about. 

My  yearning  arms  outreach  unto  the  sky 
And  with  the  force  of  tense,  up-pent  desire, 
I  call  upon  all  space  to  render  back 
To  me  that  dearer  self,  so  sweet,  since  lost; 
Which  like  a  chord  dropt  from  my  melody, 
Hath  left  life's  theme  unsingable. 

"Long  lost! 
Could  you  return  to  me,  anear  and  now 

My  lonely  solitude  to  cheer; 
Could  I  but  feel  your  breath  upon  my  brow 

And  with  these  eyes  behold  you,  dear. 
Could  you  but  come,  beloved,  my  joy  would  sing 

A  song,  would  flame  thy  spirit  heart; 
Twould  woo  thee  from  angelic  minis'tring 

And  we  should  never,  never  part." 

Naught  but  the  echoes  of  my  voice  respond 

To  break  the  placid  stillness  of  the  night. 

Yet  scarce  my  last  sigh  dies,  when  soft  as  air, 

A  cooling  breath  across  my  temples  breathes ; 

And  then  a  hand,  more  gentle  than  the  breeze, 

Is  softly  laid  upon  my  burning  cheek. 

A  nervous  wonderment  possesseth  me, 

As  mingled  doubts  and  vague  forebodings  sweep 

163 


Like  misty  phantoms  from  some  vapored  grot. 
I  feel  no  terror  such  as  you  might  think 
Would  seize  one  in  this  most  uncommon  hour, 
But  with  desire  renewed  I  do  invite 
The  soothing  ministrant  appear  again. 

"Come,  lay  thy  hand  upon  my  heart 

And  stay  the  faintness  there; 
I  need  the  tonic  of  thy  touch, 
I  need  thy  buoyant  air. 

O  lend  the  music  of  thy  speech 

To  my  o'erburdened  ear, 
And  lull  the  tumult  of  my  thoughts 

With  words  I  long  to  hear." 

O  soul !  If  such  thou  art  and  hov'ring  near, 
From  out  thy  viewless  state  to  me  appear! 

Sinking  upon  a  rock  beside  the  way, 

Wherefrom  the  landscape  opens  wide  to  view ; 

I  watch  the  reflex  of  the  passing  day, 

And  meditate  upon  a  new-found  sense. 

A  sense  that  seems  to  lift  on  soaring  wing 

Above  the  common  dreaminess  of  rest: 

An  airy  buoyance  whose  exquisite  mood 

Treads  tinted  atmospheres  from  height  to  height ; 

Till  like  a  mist  awaft  upon  the  wind 

My  soul  pursues  an  ever  onward  course, 

164 


Cleaving  soft  dews  in  sweetly  perfumed  show'rs 
That  speed  to  bathe  some  bright  celestial  dawn. 

Departing  night  now  ushers  graying  morn, 
As  o'er  a  murm'ring  rivulet  I  pass; 
Anear  whose  tide,  in  meditative  mood, 
'Mid  memories  of  golden  hours  so  bright 
They  cast  around  the  radiance  of  dawn, 
Sits  she  whom  my  lone  spirit  seeks. 

Lest  my  drear  shadow  cloud  her  happiness, 
I  hold  aloof  and  watch  her  from  afar, 
Till,  sensing  my  rapt  presence  she  bestirs, 
And  wafting  to  my  arms,  meets  my  embrace. 

Half-fainting  from    o'erwhelming  joy,  I  weep, 
Till  her  warm  lips  dry  ev'ry  springing  tear, 
And  leading  me  unto  a  bower'd  grot, 
She  bids  me  rest  upon  her  breast  awhile, 
Ere  we  do  stray  anon  as  lovers  may, 
O'er  Heav'ns  elysian  garden  ways. 

As  storm  spent  mariner  beholds  the  shore — 
Or  thru  the  mist  the  saving  lighthouse  gleam — 
As  soul  greets  soul  after  the  pain  of  death, 
So  my  emotion  fain  would  compass  her, 
But  spends  its  joy  in  wordless  utterance. 

Tuned  to  the  ripple  of  a  joyous  brook, 
We  dally  'neath  a  leaf-embowered  bough 

165 


That  swings  song-laden  in  the  fragrant  breeze ; 
Hearing  soft  melodies  while  lip  to  lip, 
Our  Spirits  thrill  in  love's  divine  embrace. 

With  tenderness  she  holds  me  to  her  breast, 
The  while  her  breath  doth  cool  my  burning  lips. 

O  rapturous  moment, 

O  joy  unrepressed! 
Enfolded,  encradled, 

Upon  thy  fond  breast. 

Thus  soul  in  soul  wafted, 

In  ecstatic  flight, 
Love's  heavenly  splendor 

Enfloods  us  with  light. 

O  thus  I  could  perish — 

Or  live — as  it  be; 
On  earth  thus  enheavened, 

Uplifted  by  thee. 

Now  moving  t'ward  desire,  instinctively, 
We  press  thru  everglades  of  green-lit  vines : 
Pass  busy  grottos  where  the  hum  of  life 
Throbbing  the  living  centers  of  high  space , 
Fulfills,  on  earth,  the  rapt  inventor's  dream. 
Thence  into  regions  of  sublime  delight 
Where  inspiration  wends  in  crystal  tides, 

166 


Breaking  into  unnumbered  beams  upon 

The  unresponsive  heights  of  human  thought. 

Thence  into  silence,  deep,  delicious,  calm, 

Wherein  we  muse  on  love's  together  days: 

Recalling  all  the  raptures  of  our  yore, 

Till  on  the  wings  of  our  past  joys,  replete, 

We  soar  to  blisses  so  divinely  rapt, 

No  human  measure  may  describe  or  feel: 

Thence  into  dreamland's  most  exquisite  mood. 

The  waves  of  snowy  clouds  rim  into  spray 
Upon  the  shimm'ring  sands  of  airy  seas, 
Dewing  the  air  with  phosphorescent  mist, 
O'ervaporing  the  higher  atmospheres 
Whose  starry  regions  lend  their  soft'ning  glows. 

Lifting  horizonward  like  billow'd  Alps, 
A  range  of  mountains  rims  the  western  sky, 
And  varied  atmospheres  inlay  their  mists 
O'er  peak  and  crag  and  deeply  cavern'd  cleft. 
'Neath  calciums  of  everchanging  light, 
On  winds  adrift,  and  falling  silently, 
The  aerial  gardens  shed  their  floral  glows, 
And  shimm'ring  petals  fall  like  tinted  snows, 
Till  ev'ry  summit  yields  a  difFrent  hue, 
And  perfumes  waft  like  incense  on  the  air. 

These  are  the  dawns  and  twilights  of  this  sphere, 
Wherein  the  combined  rays  of  heaven's  suns, 
Reflect  the  ultra-violet  of  light, 

167 


Which  is  less  bright  than  day  and  softer  than 
The  silvery  pallor  of  earth's  moonlit  night. 

I  wake  unto  the  clang  of  distant  bells 

And  feel  her  lips  still  pressing  on  mine  own ; 

As  bending  o'er  me  she  doth  hold  my  soul 

Rapt  in  the  thraldom  of  her  radiant  eyes. 

Such  orbs  as  one  might  glimpse  thru  that  dim  haze 

Of  half  awakened  senses  after  sleep. 

Reviving  from  the  swooning  of  o'erjoy, 

We  wander  forth  into  the  starry  night : 

Scarce  do  my  arms  release  her,  nor  do  I  waste 

One  golden  moment's  bliss,  tho  I  do  crave 

To  hear  of  that  far-distant  Spirit  land 

Whose  border  she  hath  crossed. 

What  better  proof  of  our  hereafter  state 

Than  her  warm  lips,  whose  sweet  response  I  feel? 

Awhile  we  wander,  almost  waftingly; 

Our  souls  communing  in  a  speechless  truce. 

Then  seated  on  a  rock  that  overhangs 

The  verdant  valley  and  the  sleeping  glades, 

We  watch  the  sphere-light  spangle  in  the  spray 

Of  dashing  rivulets,  while  joyously 

In  glowing  words,  she  stories  of  beyond: 

SHE 

The  hush  of  death  is  so  exceeding  deep, 
A  dreamless  meadow  'tis,  that  lies  between 

168 


The  sun-kissed  world  and  heav'ns  elysian  groves. 
But  blest  the  waking,  past  its  silent  tide : 

We  breathe  upon  the  air  a  breath; 
It  disappears — you  call  it  death : 
What  then  is  death  ?  A  grewsome  word 
For  pleasant  journey,  long  deferred. 

The  juggler  but  deceives  our  sight ; 
The  coin  is  passed  from  left  to  right ; 
And  that  which  we  no  longer  see 
Becomes  to  us  a  mystery. 

I  viewed  my  corse  in  sleep  profound. 
I  knew  the  features  set,  were  mine, 
I  knew  the  form's  ill-wasted  line ; 
And  pangs  of  pity  swept  my  heart, 
From  that  dear  servant  to  depart. 
I  pressed  the  lips  of  ashen  grey, 
And  turned  from  where  by  body  lay. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  cast 
A  garment  by,  whose  use  had  passed: 
And  then,  care-free  and  thrilling  deep, 
My  soul  began  its  upward  sweep. 
As  my  vibrations,  more  refined, 
Made  coarser  objects  less  denned, 
The  earth  translucent  as  the  sky, 
Unbosomed  to  my  raptured  eye ; 
Revealing  wonders  I  had  ne'er 
Experienced  nor  could  compare. 

169 

12 


Vibration  seems  the  princip'  that  evolves 

From  viewless  chaos  to  material : 

These  rocky  cliffs  that  seem  a  solid  mass, 

Are  nothing  more  than  atoms  unified. 

If  you  could  gaze  with  sight  as  keen  as  mine, 

Into  the  mountain's  pulsing  fountainhead, 

You  would  remark  its  strange  anatomy. 

Great  arteries  of  ore  wind  from  its  heart ; 

Nodules  of  nerve  centres  sense  the  thrill 

Of  Heaven's  masterful  intelligence. 

Unsightly  monsters,  as  bacilli  writhe 

And  battle  in  the  earth's  florescent  flesh; 

While  fevers  burn,  unquenchable,  beneath 

The  healthful  aspect  of  the  mountain's  glow : 

And  tears,  deep  fountained,  sear  their  hoary  cheeks. 

Coarse  substances  evaporate  like  mist, 

When  view'd  from  this  hereafter  perfectness. 

The  soul,  vibrating  from  the  Master  Mind, 

Refined,  unshackeled  from  material, 

Defies  all  matter,  for  it  is  but  naught. 

God-given  sight,  which  sees  through  mind  alone, 

May  penetrate  these  spheres,  unknown  to  flesh : 

Thus,  tho  life's  spark  depart  within  a  room 

Whose  walls  are  stone,  all  tightly  sealed  between ; 

It  meets  no  more  resistance  than  in  air: 

Impediments  obstruct  the  mortal  eye, 

But  not  the  all-wise  majesty  of  Mind. 

That  I  appear  as  I  do  now  to  thee 

Is  not  remarkable,  when  once  we  know 

The  principle  which  governs  Spirit  life. 

170 


Intuitive,  thought  may  communicate 

With  those  departed,  should  we  so  desire ; 

And  may  return  with  wondrous  dreams  impressed. 

Thus,  when  you  come  to  me  as  now,  we  must, 

Through  your  desire  and  mine,  upgather  force, 

As  draws  the  magnet  its  affinity. 

The  pow'r  to  heal  is  of  the  Spirit's  sphere, 

Whose  fountain  floweth  from  Almighty  God. 

The  true  import  of  Christ's  example  was 

The  demonstration  of  this  after-Life : 

His  was  the  Master-hand  that  forged  our  link 

Into  the  chain  of  Immortality. 

It  is  not  possible  for  those  of  earth 

To  stay  a  soul's  progression  past  the  grave. 

The  Spirit's  upawaking  to  new  life 

Sees  clearly  solved  its  purposed  mystery. 

Whatever  interest  in  earth  remains 

Frets  not  the  mind  in  its  illumined  view : 

Clouds  are  below ;  the  heavens  do  not  weep, 

But  lend  their  azure  to  day's  hopeful  glance. 

Your  sorrows  and  your  errors  are  not  seen, 

For  purity  sees  naught  but  good. 

It  is  our  privilege  to  aid  the  struggling  ones, 

But  cannot  enter  into  their  distress : 

Once  we  have  passed  the  gates,  earth  binds  no  more 

Its  vain  delusions  we  have  left  without: 

Seeing  aright,  how  can  we  sorrow  more? 

We  view  the  body  as  the  rainbow  tints 

171 


Discover  to  your  gaze  the  unseen  mist : 

Or  as  the  wire  with  oscillating  pulse 

Doth  clothe  its  pulsing  thread  with  harmony 

Distinctive  of  its  kind  and  temperament. 

The  aura  emanation  of  the  soul 

Draws  round  it  quick'ning  particles  aweave; 

Constructing  veinous  matter  to  its  form, 

Awire  with  sensitives  that  telegraph 

The  great  Life  center  from  external  cause. 

This  center,  strong  in  spirit  mastery, 

Rejects  all  messages  that  might  destroy , 

As  one  would  sort  the  tare  from  out  the  grain. 

The  censorship  of  mind  is  man's  defense, 

And  death  his  metamorphoses. 

The  spirit  being  deathless  fades  from  view, 

Just  as  the  sun  lifts  from  the  viewless  mist, 

The  tints  that  made  it  visible. 

The  mist  is  there  tho  ye  behold  it  not. 

As  thou  wert  my  whole  heart's  concern  on  earth, 
So  art  thou  still  my  lum'nous  star,  my  goal. 
Since  that  rapt  moment  thou  didst  teach  me  love, 
I've  had  no  wish  but  to  be  shrined  in  thee: 
This  is  a  woman's  highest  aim :     But  oft, 
Indifference  and  scorn  have  driv'n  her  mad, 
And  set  adrift,  she  hath  no  aim,  no  will, 
But  like  a  leaf  upon  a  changeful  wind, 
She  flutters  to  the  sheaf  of  blighted  hopes. 
I  know  scarce  more  of  other  realms  than  you, 

172 


"For  God's  great  wisdom  is  unsearchable." 
I  have  but  crossed  the  threshold  and  can  see 
With  clearer  understanding  past  the  grave. 
Ye  should  not  seek  these  portals  thru  the  aid 
Of  those  who  seem  to  have  an  occult  pow'r : 
Grave  dangers  lurk  beneath  external  means; 
The  danger  of  an  all-combating  doubt. 
Ye  mortals  are  but  weaklings  after  all, 
And  demonstrate  within  a  narrow  sphere. 
There  is  but  one  true  medium  thru  whom 
We  may  commune  in  perfect  trust  and  whence 
Inflows  the  spirit  of  unquestioned  Truth : 
And  that  source  is  our  own  upyearning  heart ; 
Where,  in  the  silence  of  our  soul's  retreat,  we  feel 
The  inspiration  of  unending  Life. 

YOUTH 

(As  night  uplifteth  on  the  wings  of  day, 
There  overwafts  the  chill  of  dewy  air. 
A  mighty  tumult  rages  in  my  breast; 
A  trembling  consciousness  of  anguish  deep, 
Like  that  which  thrills  when  last  we  kiss 
The  silent  lips  and  feel  the  fleeting  breath. 
I  know  our  parting  hour  has  come  again 
And  'twixt  despair  and  hope  my  senses  flit. 
I  cannot  part  from  her  again  and  yet — 
The  look  of  calm  compassion  on  her  face 
Revives  my  sinking  soul  as  thus  she  speaks:) 

SHE 

I  hear  a  summons  from  the  land  of  dreams 

173 


And  into  viewless  thought  I  must  resolve. 

How  soon  wilt  thou  forget  what  thou  hast  seen? 

How  soon  outlive  the  mem'ry  of  tonight? 

Creation  lifts  its  voice  in  praise  of  Him ! 

Look  to  the  east;  behold  that  mellow  glow: 

Soon  it  will  dim  the  moon's  decrescent  light; 

Upgath'ring  shadow  in  its  gorgeous  flood, 

With  onward  sweep  'twill  gild  the  east  with  dawn ! 

Hark !    Hear  you  not  a  music  purer  far 
Than  mortal  inspiration  yet  hath  framed? 

(The  many-tinted  blossoms  wound 
Their  chordant  colors  into  sound, 
And  as  they  slowly  ope'd  their  eyes, 
The  softest  music  'gan  to  rise: 
The  dewdrops,  quiv'ring  from  their  lips, 
A  cadence  wove  in  prismic  drips; 
Commingling  with  the  melody 
That  swept  across  eternity.) 

The  worldly  wise  will  call  this  all  a  myth, 
Questioning  the  soundness  of  your  mind. 
Each  day  ye  crucify  your  Christ  with  doubt ; 
But  He  is  nearer  to  the  heart  than  to  the  head, 
And  blest  are  they  who  find  Him  in  a  tear. 
We  know  He  lived  and  healed,  then  why  conceal 
The  post-climax  of  His  symbolic  life, 

174 


That  He  arose  and  walked  again  with  men. 

O !  is  it  fear,  all  ye  who  read  His  word? 

Why  do  ye  doubt  and  say,  "We  do  not  know?" 

Oblivion  is  the  ash  of  despair ; 

Eternity's  the  blossom  of  desire: 

I  am  desire  and  I  will  lead  you  on. 

I  am  thy  goal.    If  thou  but  follow  me 

Unspeakable  the  joy  awaiteth  thee! 

Be  brave;  this  breast  doth  throb  but  to  repay 

In  perfect  fullness  ev'ry  sacrifice. 

I  go,  yet  I  depart  not  from  your  life: 

Tho  to  your  vision  I  may  not  appear, 

Yet,  thou  shalt  view  me  in  the  absolute ; 

For  I  will  dwell  forever  in  your  heart. 

Go  bravely  forth; 

Turn  sorrow  into  gladness  and  assail 
Life's  mighty  problems  with  undaunted  will: 
Obey  thine  inmost  promptings,  tho  alone 
You  stand.    One  steadfast  soul  redeemeth  all. 


No  evil  shall  assail  thee, 
No  ill  thy  house  abide ; 

Christ's  spirit  will  avail  thee, 
A  sure  and  steadfast  guide. 

But  shouldst  thou  crave  companionship  with  me; 
Desire  it  with  thy  pure  unswerving  love; 
Then  will  I  come,  your  monitor  and  guide. 

175 


0  ask  with  thy  deep  earnestness  and  He 
That  holdeth  not  the  faithful  ones  apart, 
Will  grant  unto  our  beings  unity. 

There  are  no  barriers  between  the  spheres, 
Save  those  upreared  by  unbelieving  man. 
Alas,  how  few  aspire  beyond  the  last  farewell! 
Unbosomed  there    so  wide  the  gates  of  grief, 
The  dove  of  faith  in  solitude  repines, 
To  hear  again  the  wooing  voice  of  love 
If  we  would  mingle,  Spirit  and  mortal, 
Your  soul  must  cleave  to  mine  in  constancy. 

For  I  will  prove 

No  fanciful  and  fleeting  paraclete : 
Not  shadowy  unreal,  but  tangible. 
Twill  test  the  constancy  of  mortal  love 
And  prove  the  fixture  of  unswerving  faith. 
Think  o'er  it  well,  then  shouldst  thou  so  desire, 
I'll  come ;  if  not,  I'll  wait  thy  journey  hence. 
Good-night !     A  little  while  and  we  shall  meet, 
A  little  further  on,  dear  wanderer, 
And  you  will  scale  the  heights  into  my  arms. 

Give  heed  unto  thy  dreams,  for  I  attend 
Unconsciousness  to  waken  thee  betime. 

YOUTH 

(She  vanishes  from  my  pursuant  gaze, 
Tho  her  rapt  spell  still  holds  me  in  its  thrall. 

1  hear  the  gleeful  shout  of  children's  play; 
Their  songs  o'erflowing  with  their  guileless  joy ; 

176 


Unbroken,  save  by  exclamations  rapt, 
Of  long  absented  dear  ones,  new  restored. 
One  constant  murmur  of  delight  o'ersweeps 
The  meadows  of  the  sun-kissed  border-land : 
Commingling  with  the  clasp  of  greeting  friends, 
Our  sphere  conjoineth  with  glad  revelry. 

Passing  as  if  upon  a  trackless  way, 
A  host  of  reflects  from  the  Spirit  realm 
Move  undeterminedly,  as  if  they  still 
Preferred  to  linger  near  to  lowly  earth. 
They  vanish  in  the  shadows  of  the  glade ; 
These  are  the  unawakened,  seeking  still. 

I  seem  to  view  afar  into  that  realm, 

And  all  there  do  appear  of  mortal  mold : 

Each  seeming  to  pursue  some  special  thought, 

As  if  in  full  continuance,  inborn, 

Of  earth  aroused  desire.    But  most  I  mark 

The  countenance  of  each  seems  to  have  lost 

The  pinch  of  care,  as  safe  beyond  the  fear 

Of  life's  uncertain  end.     Now  light  as  air 

Two  spirit  lovers  waft  in  fond  embrace: 

The  souls'  sublimest  passion  I  can  trace 

In  that  long  kiss  that  holds  them  face  to  face. 

And  then, 

As  if  a  great  cathedral,  music  filled, 
Had  burst  awide  its  sound-restraining  walls, 
There  comes  upon  me  o'er  the  lovers'  wake 
A  flood  of  most  exquisite  harmony. 

177 


The  air  is  vibrant  with  the  rhapsody 
Of  nature's  voices  all  commingled  in 
The  chant  of  joyous,  Spirit  bands : 
Infusing  as  one  instrument  whose  keys 
Were  fingered  with  the  mastery  of  God. 

This  is  the  motive  of  enharmoned  Life, 
And  follows  wheresoe'er  True  lovers  stray. 

I  fain  would  join  that  grand  recessional, 
But  gentle  hands  do  motion  me  away. 
Then  fainter  and  more  distant,  fading  quite, 
The  concourse  swerves  toward  the  open  sky : 
The  music  softens  to  a  whisper,  low, 
Leaving  an  echo  'mid  the  murm'ring  pines. 
The  mists  begin  to  lift  their  curtains  white, 
And  dark  ravines  merge  on  the  valley's  breast, 
Lifting  green  billows  to  yon  snowy  crest. 

The  sun  sweeps  in  between  the  distant  heights, 
And  morning  woos  my  Spirit  back  to  earth.) 


178 


PART  VII. 


THOU  SHALT  WAKEN 
PART  VII 

Deep  in  the  forest's  tinted  halls, 

Rondolently  the  waterfalls 

Asperse  the  battered  boulders  grey, 

That  curve  the  brooklet's  winding  way. 

The  wood-cock  drums  a  reverie 

Upon  a  hollow  maple  tree : 

Riant  zephyrs  rake  the  glade, 

In  rustling  sheafs  the  leaves  are  laid. 

Fair  Autumn,  twilight  of  the  year, 

How  like  Spring's  morn  your  tints  appear; 

Yet,  art  thou  not  the  after-glow 

That  marks  the  winter's  hereward  flow? 

YOUTH 

The  Sexton's  journeys  shorter  grow, 
His  tread  more  faltering  and  slow ; 
He  leaneth  heavy  on  my  arm — 
Indeed,  it  fills  me  with  alarm 
To  see  his  eyes  fixed  distantly, 
As  in  absenting  reverie. 

Old  age  is  nodding  on  the  brink, 
Where  life  to  fairer  dreams  doth  sink. 

The  distant  walks,  once  his  delight, 
Are  traveled  but  in  mental  flight : 

181 


The  dells,  the  hills  and  wooded  ways 
He  wanders  o'er  in  thoughtful  gaze. 
From  his  soft  pillow'd  easy  chair 
He  drinketh  in  the  landscape  fair, 
Oft  bending  ear  to  hear  the  song 
That  wafts  from  out  the  forest's  throng. 
Oft  I  have  moved  him,  in  the  night, 
Close  to  the  window  where  the  light 
Of  waning  moon  hath  kissed  his  hair, 
Leaving  stray  spangles  glowing  there. 

How  oft  at  night,  o'er  heaven's  ebon  field, 

We've  watched  the  stars  come  trembling  thru. 

Or  when  too  feeble  he  to  write, 

From  his  rapt  lips  I  would  indite 

Some  thought  from  that  deep  astral  tide, 

Where  vital  reasonings  abide. 

Thus  deeply  tranced  his  Spirit  wings, 

Hearing  seraphic  melodies. 

[night? 

"Whence   are   those   sounds   that   thrill   the    tranquil 
What  rhythmic  cadence    borne  from  yonder  height? 
It  grandly  falls  upon  my  raptured  ears : 
Is  it  a  requiem  of  passing  spheres? 

Each  orb  alert,  doth  mark  God's  rhythmic  beat, 
And  with  full  voice  they  swell  the  chorus  meet ; 
As  gath'ring  round  the  radiant  stars  rehearse, 
God  sets  the  tempo  of  His  universe. 

182 


The  lucent  ether  jars  the  astral  shafts, 
And  o'er  the  earth  an  heav'nly  music  wafts : 
Is  it  a  dirge  o'er  Bethlehem's  lost  star 
That  falls  from  out  the  glowing  regions  far? 

Sing  on !  O,  sing !  majestic  choirs  above ; 
Waft  me  the  theme  of  His  eternal  love : 
Ring !  Joyful  ring !  from  out  the  gladdened  skies, 
Till  o'er  the  night  my  Spirit  doth  arise. 

Recall  me  not  from  my  ecstatic  spell, 
My  soul  shall  find  Thee,  Star  I  love  so  well ! 
Soon  I  will  join  you  o'er  yon  azured  bars, 
Thou  mighty  choir  of  love-enharmoned  stars." 

Some  days  I've  watched  the  Sexton's  face  with  dread, 
And  marked  the  pallor  o'er  his  features  spread. 

SEXTON 

Come,  my  son,  sit  close  beside  me, 
I've  a  wish  I  would  confide  thee : 
Your  fortitude  this  hour  requires, 
Ere  long,  my  lamp  of  life  expires. 
The  twilight  gathers  o'er  my  way, 
I  soon  shall  greet  eternal  day. 

My  sun  long  past  its  mortal  median, 

I  feel  the  shadow'd  twilight's  swift  approach : 

The  tumult  softens  into  starry  hush, 

183 


My  eyes  begin  to  feel  the  drowse  of  sleep. 
As  weary  childhood  nods  in  slumber's  hour 
Soon  unresistingly  I  shall  repose. 

Stay  thy  vain  tears,  thou  art  Awake! 
Thine  eyes  have  seen ;  thy  Spirit  feels ! 

The  dying  never  weep ! 
But  gazing  t'ward  some  distant  land, 
Their  life  ebbs  out  like  grains  of  sand 

That  seaward  creep. 

The  dying  never  weep  ! 
As  clouds  along  the  eastern  bourne 
Await  the  burst  of  golden  morn ; 

They  do  but  sleep. 

Our  parting  shall  but  transient  be, 
For  thoughts  commune  eternally. 

A  wish  I  have,  concerns  me  deep, 
And  ere  my  Soul  hath  quit  its  keep, 
I  fain  would  this  one  thought  confide 
Before  I  launch  on  even's  tide: 
It  is  that  you  not  linger  here 
In  this  self-shrinking  atmosphere. 
You  are  acquaint  with  problems  deep 
And  should  speak  out  nor  silence  keep ; 

184 


You  must  launch  forth  into  the  world, 
Where  learning's  challenges  are  hurled. 
Contact  with  the  argumentive  kind 
Doth  round  and  broaden  out  the  mind. 
Go  make  a  wake,  and  like  the  gull 
Success  will  hover  round  your  hull : 
O'er  tranquil  waters,  one  strong  wave 
Doth  set  the  surface  all  arave: 
Strike  deeper  where  the  sullen  flood 
Needs  an  infusion  of  new  blood. 
There  plant  the  Truth  and  let  it  shine, 
Whatever  fate  be  counted  thine. 
Know,  too,  that  fear  is  not  a  fact, 
So  may  it  never  prompt  an  act: 
Do  thou,  and  dare  and  do  not  pause 
To  listen  for  the  world's  applause. 

If  you  depend  on  human  power 
To  help  you,  you  will  rue  the  hour ; 
'Tis  work,  not  sterling  worth  alone, 
Can  place  you  surely  on  the  throne. 
Sequacious  mortals  are  oft  led  astray: 
Too  wavering  and  unreliant  they, 
Following  blindly,  whether  wrong  or  right, 
Their  oracle  that  showeth  its  small  light, 
Learn  to  construe  the  right  and  stand  for  it! 

However  strange,  'tis  unfortunately  true 
That  fiction  hath  effaced  the  deep  regard 
That  credence  owes  to  things  mysterious ; 

185 

13 


That  superstition  is  an  instrument 

On  which  the  fictioners  have  learned  to  play 

Their  tunes,  sensational  and  ghostly  wierd. 

Thus  Spirit  means  unto  the  callow  mind 

A  something  frighting  to  behold. 

How  far  from  that  perfection  God  devised, 

Ye  chose  to  live,  unmindful  of  His  word ! 

Ye  could  dwell  nearer  those  who  have  passed  on, 

Were  ye  in  true  accord  with  His  desire. 

Spirit  is  an  indefinable  life, 

Discernible  to  some,  to  others  not: 

Denied  by  those  who  have  not  Seen  nor  Felt. 

It  is  not  subject  to  material, 

Suggestion  or  any  other  ism. 

It  sleeps  until  awakened   thoughtfully, 

Or  in  that  great  release  from  anchorage, 

Called  death. 

It  sweeps  aloft  in  strength ;  in  feebleness 

It  soars  no  farther  than  its  wings  may  lift. 

We  know  the  way  no  farther  than  we've  flown, 

And  then  we've  passed  o'er  many  a  Truth. 

Numbers  have  had  visions  and  have  oft  seen 

With  mortal  sight,  these  way-lost  travelers, 

Not  full  aroused  from  all  their  doubts,  yet  bound 

To  matter  that  did  please  perverted  view ; 

Lost  in  the  vagaries  of  mortal  mind. 

Tho  Spirit  is  Immortal,  vague, 

'Tis  fixed,  not  volatile,  tho  aeriform : 

'Tis  no  mere  apprehension  of  the  mind, 

186 


Nor  an  eduction  of  unbalanced  thought. 
Distinct  from  temporalities,  it  Is, 
And  quickeneth  the  life  of  man. 

Inaudant,  o'er  some  impulse  to  the  ear, 
The  Spirit's  voice  descends  upon  the  mind: 
Tuning  the  harp  to  charming  harmony, 
More  rich  with  import  of  the  Life  to  come 
Than  all  the  noisome  reasonings  of  men. 

"We  are  promised  an  heritage  of  peace :" 

The  poor  man  thinks  to  find  it  in  great  wealth ; 

The  rich  man  strives  to  find  it  in  bequest: 

The  artist  and  the  artisan  alike, 

Are  feverish  in  their  inventive  zeal: 

All  labor  cries  up  from  oppressive  stress. 

There  is  but  one  release  from  discontent; 

It  is  contained  in  those  sweet  words  of  peace, 

And  each  may  share  it  equally  withal : 

'Tis  coming  with  each  hereward  throb  of  Time, 

Whose  gentle  stroke  mows  down  the  varied  yield. 

Let  each  one  strive  to  bear  his  burden  well, 

Building  upon  that  heritage  beyond, 

And  not  the  morrow's  unreal  promises. 

Enchanted  by  life's  bright,  alluring  glare, 
We  love  it  tho  it  sears  our  precious  souls. 
From  day  to  day  we  feel  securely  strong, 
And  build  upon  the  future's  treach'rous  sands. 

187 


O,  wise  forethought  that  made  uncertain  time 
To  scarcely  whisper  of  Fate's  mystery ; 
Folding  the  hereward  moment's  message  from 
Man's  arrogant  and  all  too  heedless  view. 

When  wealth  is  scattered  in  employment's  sphere, 
Industry  sparkles  with  increasing  light, 
And  progress  smiles  o'er  feud  and  discontent ; 
A  peaceful  safeguard  to  aspiring  zeal. 

These  periods  of  blighting  want  are  born 
Of  man's  perverted,  selfish  view  of  needs. 
God  made  enough,  that  each  might  share  alike ; 
But  some  ordain  that  they  should  have  it  all. 
The  clash  of  arms  will  not  aright  the  wrong; 
The  remedy  is  generosity. 

To  kindly  impulse  lend  thy  gentlest  speech ; 
Constrain  thy  thoughts  to  do  no  person  ill : 
There's  more  of  good  than  bad  in  ev'ry  heart ; 
But  our  opinions  misconstrue  intent. 
Men  are  not  equal,  but  of  equal  worth : 
Great  possibilities  endow  each  breast; 
And  purpose,  not  possession,  makes  the  man. 

With  a  deep  sympathy  I'd  reach  into 

All  solitary  lives,  bereft  of  love ; 

Uplift  with  tenderness  the  drooping  heart : 

Inspire  with  vital  warmth  congealing  blood. 

188 


I'd  shine  upon  the  yearnings,  drear  and  lone, 
Of  unrequited  and  overcrowded  life; 
Where  too  much  else  doth  fill  the  mind  for  peace, 
And  blest  companionship  is  lost  in  self. 
Accursed  destroyer  thou,  Indifference, 
How  much  of  woe  doth  underlie  your  calm ! 
The  gods  admonish  and  the  angels  weep, 
Still  drags  your  egoistic  maelstrom  down, 
Forever  down ! 

O'erview  the  world  as  from  an  lofty  height ; 
Above  its  follies,  ills  and  temporalities. 
Quaffing  its  beauties,  O    despise  vain  zeal, 
As  one  that  hath  the  painful  lesson  learned: 
Thou  and  thy  Spirit,  one  in  realms  of  Light, 
Find  no  real  pleasure  save  within  the  Soul.  • 
Attend  thy  dearest  friend,  sweet  Suffering, 
And  tune  your  harp  to  rhapsodies  of  peace. 
Go  lend  thy  voice  and  sympathies  to  woe, 
But  scorn  the  phantom  of  vain,  selfish  greed. 
Bespeak  the  shallows  of  the  mighty  deep: 
Turn  stagnant  waters  into  living  streams. 
Go  mingle  with  your  fellows,  but  beware, 
Thou  dost  not  learn  to  serve  their  god,  Conceit. 

I  have  awakened  from  dull  sleep  to  dream 
Such  dreams  no  dreamer  ever  dream'd  beyond. 
Wherein,  the  Soul  accomplishing  its  Will, 
Took  full  possession  of  Life's  energy. 
The  search  for  Truth  hath  turned  my  gaze  within, 

189 


So  fixing  thought,  my  soul  hath  found  its  own, 
Sweeping  with  rapt  volition  t'ward  its  goal. 
Thou,  too,  by  slow,  but  unresisting  drift, 
Oh  world,  shalt  waken  from  dogmatic  dusk 
To  find  the  everlasting  spark  is  Will — 
The  hills  have  found  Him  in  the  valley's  hush — 
The  streams  have  found  Him  in  their  seaward  rush- 
While  I  have  found  Him  in  deep  solitude: 
I  sought  within  the  beam  and  found  the  Sun. 
I  sped  a  wish  unto  the  realms  of  space, 
And  it  returned  with  tidings  of  sweet  grace: 
Be  patient  till  your  message  comes,  and  then 
Speak  out,  that  all  may  hear  and  heed. 

Pursue  thy  course  as  an  way-faring  guest 
That  any  moment  may  pass  further  on, 
Who  so  disposes  his  estate  some  joy 
May  light  upon  his  fellow  travelers. 
Talk  sparingly.     Listen  attentively; 
Being  unmoved  by  hateful,  bitter  speech. 
Beware  lest  reaching  out  too  earnestly, 
You  call  upon  your  head,  man's  frailties. 
Seek  out  the  True  and  finding,  hold  it  fast. 
Give  sympathy;  accept,  but  ask  for  none. 
Reserve  thy  heart  for  thine  affinities, 
Placing  your  trust  above  capricious  self. 
Beware  of  those  that  glibly  comprehend : 
Of  seers  of  occult  and  foretelling  sense; 
Their  readings  suit  but  transitory  moods, 
And  e'er  offend  the  dignity  of  Will : 

190 


Each  must  expand  thru  dear  experience. 

Ask  thine  own  Spirit  of  the  future's  store ; 

Be  captain — master  of  thy  craft. 

Know  every  rope  and  sail's  capacity: 

Minding  the  helm  of  thought  with  steadfast  poise ; 

And  when  in  stress  of  wrecking  doubt,  obey 

The  promptings  of  thy  Monitor  within: 

Thy  Spirit  will  direct  thee  safe  to  port. 


It  ever  has  been  my  desire 

That  when  at  last  I  should  expire, 

Fit  disposition  I  might  make 

Of  my  old  body  past  the  break 

Of  the  subjective  from  its  coil, 

And  leave  it  not  to  common  spoil. 

In  yonder  cloister  'tis  decreed 

That  they  who  from  their  faith  secede, 

May  not  repose  within  their  field; 

For  fear  that  some  contamning  stain 

May  defeat  their  heavenly  gain. 

Since  you  are  all  that  I  have  left, 
Of  brotherhood  and  all  bereft; 
I  ,do  consign  unto  your  care, 
This  body  when  no  life  is  there : 
Dispose  this  husk  where'er  you  may, 
It  is  but  dross,  unfeeling  clay, 
And  has  been  naught  e'er  since  I  found 
The  Truth  that  healed  its  ev'ry  wound. 

191 


O,  where  more  gentle  hands  than  thine, 
To  close  these  drowsy  lids  of  mine! 

Could  I  choose  where  my  wings  to  try, 
'Twould  be  upon  a  cloudless  sky ; 
When  Nature  dreams  her  rarest  dreams, 
And  bloom-decked  branches  arch  the  streams, 
There  would  I  fly! 

No  stifling  room  my  pinions  fold, 
No  winding  sheet  my  freedom  hold ; 
Unbind  my  tethered  Soul,  perchance, 
With  all  creation  for  expanse : 
Then  would  I  fly ! 

Go  build  a  raft  of  timbers  meet 
And  ere  too  feeble  grow  my  feet, 
Assist  me  to  my  rustic  bed ; 
Let  mossy  pillow  rest  my  head. 
Then  when  the  sun  hath  tipped  the  west, 
And  rims  the  clouds  with  golden  crest ; 
When  evening's  lamps  swing  out  aloft, 
Unbind  and  let  my  ark  drift  soft 
And  silent  on  the  river's  breast, 
Toward  the  ocean  of  sweet  rest: 
'Tween  branches  arching,  side  to  side, 
Within  the  shadows,  let  me  glide. 

Thus  launched  upon  a  tranquil  sea, 
Eternal  tides  may  trundle  me, 

192 


'Mid  calm  and  tempest  t'ward  the  Isle 
That  lies  beyond  the  afterwhile. 

Wait  not  too  long  before  we  sail ; 
I  am  impatient  for  the  gale: 
I'd  fain  be  well  upon  my  way 
Ere  morning  wakes  another  day. 

Far  away  I  hear  them  calling, 
Angel  voices  sweet  and  low ; 

And  I  hear  their  chorus  singing, 
Soft  and  slow,  so  soft  and  slow. 

How  divine  the  heav'nly  music 
Falls  upon  my  raptured  ear ; 

Fills  my  inmost  sense  with  longing, 
Sounding  clear,  and  ever  near. 

Far  away  like  stars  unnumbered, 
Wends  a  radiant  spirit  band; 

I  can  hear  the  glad  bells  ringing, 
Happy  land,  bright,  happy  land. 

I  am  coming!     I  am  coming! 

Open  wide  the  mercy  gates, 
I  shall  soon  be  singing  with  you, 

And  the  joyous  thought  elates. 


193 


YOUTH 

(To  carry  out  his  wish,  I  spend 
My  leisure  at  the  river's  bend ; 
Cutting  and  hewing  from  the  glade 
Until  his  rustic  ark  is  made. 
Then  o'er  the  logs,  securely  bound, 
Weave  cypress  branches  all  around : 
The  tinted  maples  braiding  through, 
To  brighten  o'er  the  sombre  hue. 
Upon  the  prow  a  cross  I  rear 
Of  immortelles,  his  sight  to  cheer: 
Make  fast  a  sturdy  helm  astern, 
To  guide  us  round  the  river's  turn. 
The  raft  completed  then  I  moor 
It  to  the  gently  sloping  shore, 
Where  silent  eddies  playful  glide 
From  out  the  river's  flowing  tide. 


The  sun  has  just  commenced  to  fall 
Upon  the  lowlands'  western  wall : 
October's  chilling  ev'ning  breeze, 
Scatters  the  dead  leaves  from  the  trees. 

Up  the  lofty  mountains  faintly 
Lifts  the  chant  of  chorus,  saintly ; 
And  to  the  organ's  solemn  march 
The  monks  file  slowly  'neath  the  arch 
Of  yonder  fading,  spectral  wall, 
To  worship  in  the  cloister's  hall. 

194 


I  pause  a  moment  at  the  latch 

Of  the  old  Sexton's  lowly  thatch, 

And  softly  press  the  creaking  door. 

A  shadow  sweeps  across  the  floor : 

Waiting  a  moment  as  I  heard 

His  soul  to  fervent  pray'r  was  stirred. 

Conquering  my  deep  emotion 
In  a  spirit  of  devotion, 
I  kneel  down  softly  by  his  side ; 
Open  the  dark'ning  shutters  wide. 
The  sun  is  laying  tints  of  rest 
Upon  the  altars  of  the  west. 
Released,  the  fluffy  mists  afloat, 
Enwrap  the  eve'  with  ermine  coat. 
Swift  riding  in  upon  the  breeze, 
The  crisp  air  stings  the  sighing  trees, 
Beading  their  boughs  with  dewy  globes 
That  spangle  on  the  twilight's  robes. 

The  pouting  river  languid  waits 

The  moon  that  yonder  cliff  belates ; 

And  kissed  by  day's  soft,  slumb'rous  glance, 

Faint  blushes  on  the  ripples  dance. 

His  face  glows  with  the  pallid  light 
Of  ethereal  visions  bright. 

He  lifts  his  slender  hand  to  bless, 
And  on  my  brow  his  fingers  press. 

195 


He  craves  to  be  alone  awhile : 
I  go,  but  mark  his  gentle  smile 
That  beams  just  as  the  cadence  thrills, 
Of  the  Angelus,  o'er  the  hills. 

Echoes  cleave  the  ambient  air 
And  nature  bows  in  silent  prayer. 

As  music  in  his  soul  awakes 

His  voice  upon  the  silence  breaks:) 

SEXTON 
O  render  me  some  melody, 

Upheld  with  chords  divine; 
Unwind  some  impulse  of  your  soul, 

Enweave  it  into  mine. 

O  lend  the  strings  a  pressure  soft, 
Sustaining,  clear  and  deep; 

In  tenderness  weave  in  a  tear — 
Play  on!     I  fain  would  weep. 

Play  on  and  let  the  great  chords  ring! 

Press  out  the  surging  swell ; 
Then  soften  to  a  faint  low  hush, 

Like  distant,  dying  bell. 

And  if  you  have  a  tender  voice, 
Express  one  golden  word 

That  shall  fall  on  my  listn'ing  ear, 
The  sweetest  ever  heard. 

196 


Then  leave  me,  with  the  lights  adim, 
While  flooding  fancies  swoon; 

With  the  infinitude  beyond, 

My  thoughts  would  fain  commune. 

YOUTH 

(Like  gentle  billows  that  caress  the  shore, 
Emotion's  surge  doth  break  upon  my  heart ; 
And  inundates  with  ever-pressing  tide, 
These  sun-parched  sands  of  solitary  life. 

Fearing  to  break  his  raptured  spell 
I  wait  until  the  tolling  bell 
Hath  hushed  beyond  the  ebbing  tide ; 
He  calls,  I  hasten  to  his  side.) 

SEXTON 

Come  hither,  son ;  my  hour  is  near, 
And  you  must  lead  me  to  my  bier 
Before  my  life  escapes  the  cleft, 
While  this  last  flush  of  strength  is  left. 
Lend  me  your  arm,  O  ever  true! 
This  pray'r  shall  now  ascend : 

Softly  the  night  winds 
Fan  amid  the  flowers; 

The  gathering  shadows 
Mark  the  passing  hours. 

197 


The  moonbeams  quiver 
Gently  from  above; 

AJ1  earth  and  heaven 
Speak  the  Savior's  love. 

Father  be  near  us 

Thru  the  coming  night ; 
Guide  our  Spirits  to 

The  realms  of  Light. 

O  for  the  many 

Weary  souls  athirst, 
From  dark'ning  clouds  may 

Floods  of  blessings  burst 

Give  to  the  homeless 
Shelter  in  Thy  heart ; 

Let  not  the  tempted 
From  Thy  path  depart. 

Unto  my  weakness 
Lend  a  helping  hand, 

And  safely  guide  me 
To  the  Morning  Land. 


I'll  give  one  parting  glance  around, 
O'er  this  enhallowed  bit  of  ground. 
Farewell !  thou  dark  encloistered  hall ! 
Farewell !  thou  sombre,  silent  wall ! 

198 


Good-night,  dear  brothers  of  the  hood ; 
Above,  all  creeds  are  understood ! 
I  now  must  fare  the  mystic  way, 
From  whence  devoted  never  stray. 

Out  from  the  shadow  of  the  cross, 
Casting  my  burdens  away ; 

I'm  passing  from  all  that  is  dross, 
Leaving  this  casket  of  clay. 

Out  from  the  crude,  unfinished  life, 

On  into  one  just  begun ; 
A  pause  in  the  struggle  and  strife, 

Seeing  the  goal  nearly  run. 

Launched  on  the  silent,  vast  unknown, 
With  never  a  fear  nor  dread ; 

Gentle  hands  are  guiding  my  own, 
Ethereal  paths  I  tread. 

Death's  but  the  sigh  of  fleeting  breath, 
The  changing  of  steeds  o'er  night : 

Release  from  the  thraldom  of  wrong, 
Into  the  freedom  of  Right. 

Free  as  winged  thought  the  astral  springs, 
And  mounts  to  Heaven  on  fleet  wings: 
Assist  me  now,  to  my  last  bed, 
Where  winds  this  fragile,  earthly  thread. 

199 


YOUTH 

(Slowly  the  hill  we  mutely  passed; 
Each  falt'ring  step  did  seem  his  last. 

Upon  the  raft 

At  last  I  place  him,  tenderly, 
To  dream  his  final  reverie, 
Tossed  on  the  river's  bosom,  light, 
Awaiting  for  the  hour  of  flight. 

My  faithful  skiff  I  place  in  tow, 
That  when  I  leave  him  I  may  row, 
When  we  dissever  on  the  main, 
Safely  unto  the  shore  again. 

Just  as  the  young  moon  'gins  to  climb, 
The  Sexton  beckons  that  'tis  time, 
And  severing  the  ropes  that  bind, 
We  slowly  down  the  river  wind. 

With  barge  and  pole, 
Light  o'er  the  shoal, 

We  glide,  we  glide; 
The  crystal  stream 
Whirls  in  a  dream, 

And  wide,  and  wide. 

The  trees  bend  o'er 
The  sloping  shore, 
And  dip,  and  dip, 

200 


The  current  bends 
The  leafy  ends, 

That  skip,  that  skip. 

The  fish  below 
Dart  to  and  fro, 

And  leap,  and  leap; 
While  round  the  bend 
We  slowly  wend, 

O'er  deep,  o'er  deep. 

A  startled  deer 
From  tangle  near, 

Takes  flight,  takes  flight, 
O'erleaps  the  ground 
With  graceful  bound, 

So  light,  so  light. 

We  pass  the  steep 
Where  brooklets  leap, 

Awhirl,  awhirl; 
And  dash  with  spray 
Their  mossy  way, 

And  purl,  and  purl. 

The  day  sinks  low 
With  golden  glow, 

So  bright,  so  bright; 
And  shadows  creep : 
Adown  the  steep 

Comes  night,  comes  night. 

201 


14 


The  moon  sails  o'er 
With  silver  lore, 

Of  beams,  of  beams; 
Casts  them  away 
O'er  slumb'ring  day, 

And  streams,  and  streams 

SEXTON 

How  blest,  permitted  thus  to  die, 
Night's  fairest  visions  passing  by. 

Hark!  'tis  the  vesper  chanting,  clear, 
Upon  the  drowsy  atmosphere. 
Soft  lights  from  out  the  cloister  flush, 
Then  vanish  into  deep'ning  hush. 

A  watchful  shepherd  guards  his  flock, 
That  slumbers  round,  on  yonder  rock; 
While  countless  stars  press  thru  the  sky, 
And  twinkle  o'er  with  brilliant  eye. 

Now  the  kaleidoscopic  scene 

Fades  where  the  mists  creep  in  between. 

The  little  streams,  with  varied  drip, 
Their  tinkling,  rhythmic  cadence  trip; 
Weaving  a  song  into  night's  woof, 
As  raindrops  thrum  the  pattered  roof: 
Then  prattle  on  their  bubbling  way, 
A  sheen  of  moon-enbrightened  spray. 

202 


We  sweep  the  rapids  quickly  o'er 
'Neath  brushing  branches  close  to  shore, 
Where  wild  impulsive  waters  rush, 
Whose  murmurs  fainter  grow  and  hush 
An  echo  on  the  wind's  low  breath, — 
O  melancholy  calm  of  death. 

Why  doth  the  note  of  sadness 
Pervade  the  gayest  song? 

Why  grows  the  singer  silent, 
As  life  steps  quickly  along? 

Why  -that  contra  melody, 

Distracting  the  dreams  that  surge? 
Behind  the  gay  musician 

Stands  Death,  and  he  plays  a  dirge ! 

What  peace  it  is  indeed,  to  drift, 
While  heav'nly  hands  reach  down  to  lift 
My  soul  up  thru  the  fleeting  night, 
Unto  eternal  realms  of  light. 

What  melody  doth  charm  my  ear ! 
Descending  out  the  atmosphere. 

As  the  fragrant  breath  of  morning 
Weaves  soft  zephyrs  o'er  the  lea ; 

So  a  gentle,  loving  Spirit, 
Wafts  its  sweetness  over  me. 

203 


Life  strains,  exulting  at  the  breach ; 
Long  fettered,  now  its  wings  outreach : 
Like  captive  bird,  it  longs  to  try 
Its  pinions  on  the  azure  sky. 

The  body  suffers,  but  the  Mind  exalts, 
And  in  rapt  inspiration,  pain  defaults. 

YOUTH 

(Soon  the  river  banks  grow  distant 
And  the  current  less  insistent; 
While  the  water's  heaving  motion 
Tells  us  we  are  on  the  ocean. 

From  out  yon  night-hid,  rocky  height, 
Beameth  the  lighthouse  beacon  bright ; 
Seeming  to  lay  a  path  for  me 
Unto  the  wave-kissed  reach  of  lea. 

His  rapt  gaze,  as  in  a  dream, 
Is  fixed  upon  yon  ev'ning  star 
That  gloweth  down  the  night  afar. 

Now  over  the  tide 

The  deep  shadows  glide, 

As  night  wings  over  the  spray ; 
The  still  waters  gleam 
With  the  shimmering  beam 

Of  harbor  lights  o'er  the  way. 

204 


I  hear  the  soft  knell 

Of  a  distant  bell, 
Awaft  from  a  ship  afar; 

Where  the  seamen  hear 

And  greet  with  a  cheer, 
The  lights  o'er  the  home  harbor  bar. 

Fair  Luna  slanteth  o'er  the  west ; 
Unrolls  upon  the  ocean's  breast, 
And  o'er  her  gleaming  carpet,  spread, 
The  tide  sweeps  on  with  stately  tread. 

Zephyrus,  shepherd  of  the  waves, 
Herds  them  to  his  sheltering  caves; 
'Neath  his  soft  breath  their  fleecy  spray, 
Gambols  along  the  rocky  way. 

Northward,  Boreas  frowning  waits; 
As  hungered  wolf  he  contemplates 
The  tranquil  herd,  and  longs  to  clasp 
The  weary  straggler  in  his  grasp.) 

SEXTON 

Thru  the  murkiness  of  night 
Sweeps  a  glow  of  spectral  light: 
Thru  a  misty  veil  I  see 
Phantom  faces  smile  on  me. 
There's  a  form  glides  over  there 
On  the  light,  vibrating  air; 

205 


That  of  old  I  laid  to  sleep, 

Where  enpurpled  myrtles  creep. 

She  is  bending  o'er  me  now 

And  glad  welcome  wreathes  her  brow. 

Streaming  free,  like  threads  of  gold, 

On  the  breeze  her  locks  unfold. 

Now  she  guides  my  rustic  ark 
Thru  the  meadows  of  the  dark ; 
With  a  shining,  silver  strand, 
Held  within  her  slender  hand. 


YOUTH 

(We're  drifting  on  the  open  sea 
Where  dimly  fadeth  now,  the  lea. 
A  wondrous  stillness,  deep,  profound ; 
Doth  fall  upon  the  waters  round. 

0  many  the  sounds  that  we  never  hear ; 
Sounds  all  too  faint  for  the  untrained  ear : 
The  opening  bud  sings  a  song  its  own 
And  the  passing  hour  hath  a  monotone ; 
The  deft  fall  of  night  hath  its  melody, 

And  the  bright,  waking  dawn  its  symphony; 
While  the  fluttering  stir  of  the  Soul's  rapt  flight 
Is  lost  to  our  sense  as  Heav'n  to  the  sight.) 

1  faint,  O  Master!  while  I  contemplate 
The  awful  majesty  of  death. 

206 


SEXTON 

Not  yet,  O  comrad !  falter  not ! 
Tho  wearied  with  the  toilsome  way; 
And  faint  of  heart,  thou  seest  the  peak 
Whose  summit  dawns  upon  thy  view : 
Or  reaching  forth,  the  goal  you  seek, 
Seems  but  a  step  remote  from  you : 
Fail  not,  it  is  not  yet  thy  day. 
Faint  not,  O  comrad!  only  wait. 
When  sickness  guised  in  error  creeps 
Upon  thee  to  pollute  thy  flesh; 
With  Truth's  negating  power  resist; 
With  healing  thoughts  thy  mind  refresh. 
Thy  soul  will  conquer,  but  persist : 
Faint  not,  assail  the  upward  steeps ! 
Faint  not,  O !  comrad,  trust  and  wait ! 

When  ideal  becomes  the  real, 
And  the  unseen  is  the  seen ; 

When  the  make-believe  finds  Truth, 
And  the  Spirit  lives  serene; 

Then  we  shall  have  found  the  state, 
Wherein  all  perfection  beams, 

And  the  haven  of  desire 

Be  the  Heaven  of  our  dreams. 

From  wave  to  wave  in  perfect  trust, 
Unmindful  of  the  tempest's  gust; 

Love  pilots  me. 
207 


The  undiscovered  now  is  found, 

Its  shore  line  girds  the  heavens  round ; 

Love  pilots  me. 

From  cloud  to  cloud  upon  the  air, 
Unburdened  forth  my  Soul  doth  fare; 

Love  pilots  me. 

Heavenward,  star  to  star  I  rise, 
The  stepping  stones  to  paradise ; 

Love  pilots  me. 

Fulfilled,  my  duties  now  are  o'er, 
I'll  trust  my  pilot  evermore 
And  wake  to  view  a  sunlit  shore ; 

Love  pilots  me. 

0  calm  serene  of  dewy  night 

When  moon  and  stars  are  glowing  bright 
And  wind  and  wave  ahush. 

Release  the  helm,  that  I  may  roam, 
With  Love  to  light  me  safely  home: 
Good-night,  dear  Youth,  God  comfort  thee ! 

1  am  restored  eternally. 

YOUTH 

(I  ease  the  helm  and  bending  near, 
His  feeble  breath  I  strive  to  hear. 

A  leaden  chill  is  on  his  cheek; 
Yet  finds  he  strength  enough  to  speak : 
"We'll  meet  again!" — and  then  I  heard 
His  last  pray'r  flutter  word  to  word : 

208 


SEXTON 

"O  tide  eternal, 

Swift  bear  me  over 
To  shores  supernal, 

Where  angels  hover: 
Waters  are  dashing, 
Thunders  are  crashing, 
Lightnings  are  flashing 
O'er  abysmal  dread. 

You  whom  I  cherish, 
O  weep  not  but  wait ! 

Souls  cannot  perish 
That  God  doth  create. 

He'll  not  forsake  me, 

But  homeward  take  me; 

Speak  and  awake  me 
And  bid  me  to  rise. 

When  all  is  over 

May  Thy  will  be  done ; 
This  homeless  rover 

Then  faces  Thy  throne: 
Sweet  be  the  waking, 
Heaven's  dawn  breaking, 
Earthly  dust  shaking, 
Forevermore." 

At  that  last  word  his  waiting  thought 
Departed  to  the  regions  sought, 

209 


And  left  his  body  pulseless,  cold : 
Thus  passed  he  from  my  loving  hold. 

0  how  I  longed  the  tuneful  sound 
Of  his  dear,  songful  voice,  but  found 
His  lips  were  sealed  past  all  recall : 
Then  wept  I  long  upon  his  pall. 

There  is  a  path  no  bird  of  air  hath  found, 
Whose  silver  thread  beyond  the  stars  is  wound. 

Have  you  ever  stood  in  the  after  hush 

That  follows  the  last  good-bye; 
When  the  heart  grows  faint  with  receding  steps, 

And  the  fevered  eyes  are  dry? 

While  your  lips  yet  thrill  with  the  last  long  kiss, 

Your  thoughts  follow  on  and  on ; 
And  the  future  mocks  with  the  ling'ring  glance, 

Of  one  that  is  gone ! — is  gone ! 

Alone  with  death  upon  the  sea, 
And  waters  murm'ring  mournfully. 

1  strew  the  dead  leaves  gently  o'er  him ; 

The  quickening  breeze  sweeps  them  before  him. 

Bury  the  hopes  have  lived  and  perished, 
The  phantom  dreams  thy  heart  hath  cherished ; 
Under  the  leaves : 

210 


Bury  the  pain  of  sad  awakings, 

The  tears  and  sighs  of  rude  heart  breakings; 

Under  the  leaves : 

Bury  them  all  where  the  night  wind  weaves 
A  tinted  shroud  of  the  dying  leaves, 
And  from  the  tomb,  where  your  sorrows  sleep, 
A  new  and  glorious  Life  shall  leap. 


I  leave  him  then,  and  pull  for  shore ; 

The  distance  'tween  grows  more  and  more. 

The  moon,  concealed  by  misty  pall, 
Retires  behind  the  ocean's  wall, 
And  darkness  draws  her  garments  tight 
Around  the  glowing  form  of  night: 
The  stars  fade  pallid  o'er  the  scene : 
A  master  wave  sweeps  in  between — 
And  we  that  were  in  life  so  near, 
Have  parted  now,  each  to  his  sphere. 
I  t'ward  yon  beacon  on  the  shore ; 
He  t'ward  his  Star  forevermore. 


As  morn's  refreshing  wind  awakes, 
The  stirring  sea,  white-crested,  breaks. 

Anearing  now  the  misty  shore, 
I  pause  anon  to  rest  my  oar; 
Scanning  with  eager,  wistful  eye, 
The  graying  rim  of  seagirt  sky. 

211 


From  out  the  north  a  threat'ning  cloud 
Peals  forth  its  vibrant  thunder,  loud. 
Swift,  fleeting  vapors  hurry  on, 
Before  the  rousing  glance  of  dawn. 

The  fretting  billows,  tempest  prest, 
O'er-serf  with  white,  befoaming  crest ; 
High  heading  o'er  the  troughing  deep, 
Urged  by  the  wind's  increasing  sweep. 

The  sea-gulls  lifting  on  the  wing, 
Storm  buffeted,  shrill-shrieking  swing; 
While  o'er  the  crash  of  spray  doth  moan 
The  under-surge's  monotone. 

Distinctly,  thru  the  lifting  night, 
The  cross  upon  the  raft  glows  white; 
Now  driven  by  the  winds  caprice, 
Now  vanishing  beneath  the  fleece 
Of  frenzied  breakers'  onward  rush ; 
Then  pausing  in  a  moment's  hush. 

A  dark,  advancing  ridge  appears, 
And  reaching  skyward  as  it  nears, 
Headmost  it  leaps  above  the  rest, 
Lifting  the  bier  upon  its  crest ; 
Where  poising  for  a  moment  brief, 
The  white  cross  glows  in  bold  relief. 
The  wave  then  dashes  grandly  on : 

I  glance  in  vain — the  barge  is  gone ! 

212 


Thus  do  our  earth-born  friendships  sever. 

Backward  and  forward  swings  the  sea 
In  wearisome  monotony; 
Now  lovingly  it  laves  the  shore; 
Now  like  some  monster,  curveth  o'er. 
O  dark,  unfathomable  deep! 
What  mysteries  forever  sleep 
Within  your  mighty  confines,  dark, 
Where  lies  the  lore  of  hapless  barque ! 
Roll  on,  thou,  in  God-given  course ! 
Roll  on  with  unconquerable  force! 
Your  glowing  streets  of  coral  red, 
No  mortal  feet  may  ever  tread : 
Your  em'rald  banks  and  silvered  caves 
Are  safely  hidden  'neath  the  waves. 

Up  from  the  east  Sol's  warming  ray 
Begins  to  crimson  o'er  the  gray, 
And  rears  his  golden  shafts  of  day, 
High  o'er  the  banks  of  marbled  spray. 

As  wings  bright  morn  across  the  sea, 
A  sense  of  peace  comes  over  me : 
A  surcease  from  the  night's  sad  quest, 
And  wearied  fancy  longs  for  rest. 
For  God  hath  placed  in  each  a  soul 
That  restless  longs  to  know  its  goal, 
And  faring  on  unceasingly, 
O'ersweeps  the  great  eternity. 

213 


Until  such  moment  we  must  swing, 
With  steadfast  Faith,  this  mortal  fling: 
Content  to  gaze  on  wave  and  sky, 
Undoubting  what  beyond  doth  lie, 
Inspired  to  cultivate  the  Mind 
To  rise  above  the  ills  that  bind 
Us  ever  to  our  mortal  part ; 
Love  doth  emancipate  the  Soul. 

Thou  shalt  waken !     Thou  shalt  waken ! 

Ere  the  final  flight  is  taken, 

And  the  mystic  way,  revealing 

Thru  the  pow'r  of  Sense  and  Feeling, 

Lead  thee  True,  the  false  forsaken; 

Thou  shalt  waken !     Thou  shalt  waken ! 

Man  is  of  God,  Omnipotent, 

Is  heir  to  All  that  Is; 
The  ages  are  his  stepping-stones, 

Eternity  is  his. 

O'er  resonating  cliffs,  dynamic  heights, 
Leap  liquid  harmonies  whose  weaving  sprays 
Drift  misty  melodies  upon  the  air. 

The  sea-bird  rookeries  adown  the  cliffs, 
With  shrieking,  flutt'ring  tenants  throng; 
That  by  some  unaccustomed  sound  disturbed, 
Arise,  a  swarming,  darkening  cloud  awing. 

214 


The  creeping  wave-lines  on  the  sands  bemark 
The  inward  sweep  of  ever-reaching  tide; 
Whose  undulating  lustre  scintillates 
Beneath  the  slanting  sun's  caressing  beam. 

With  canvas  swelling  to  the  fore, 
A  ship  stands  in  towards  the  shore, 
And  joyous  voices  chant  of  home. 


One  wistful,  seaward  glance  and  then 
I  face  the  busy  haunts  of  men. 


215 


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if-r>o 


/\  TP    0  ^S    ^^  j_~-»  *'  "~  " 

.   .  r-  _^-^======:=:::^ 


YC   1 4605 


671529 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


